The Ducks in a Row Series
by singingstarryknights
Summary: Completed, revised, and compiled into one place. GregSara.
1. Chapter 1

It was really, always, all or nothing.

They wanted it all.

Everything.

Greg Sanders had become an extremely serious, dedicated CSI. He had grown up right before Sara's eyes, morphing from the wild child of the DNA lab to the sleek, professional, dare she say, _handsome_ prodigy currently standing inches away from her, gazing over her shoulder at the case file in front of her.

"Did you hear me, Sidle?" Greg turned to face her, not moving from his close proximity. She took the opportunity to lean back in her chair, her shoulder coming in contact with his chest.

"Sorry. I'm paying attention. What?" She focused her eyes on the bloody photos in front of her, trying with all her might to focus on the layout table and not on Greg's profile mere inches from her face, reading the file over her shoulder. She felt a wave of heat surge through her body. She was going mad.

Then she felt, as well as heard, him chuckle a quiet, deep, throaty laugh she had never really heard before. It echoed through her, settling with an odd pressure below her waist. Oh god, she recognized that feeling. Greg Sanders had turned her on, and he hadn't even touched her. Images of being snugly caught between the table and Greg's body flashed through her mind.

Whoa.

"You were definitely not listening to me just there." His breath tickled her neck lightly, sending more heat to that spot. She needed to get a grip. He had never affected her like this before. He had never stood this close to her before either. No, he had. Grissom had never affected her like this. She felt feverish. She was going to die.

"I was." More hoarse laughter. Oh God.

"Then what did I say?"

"Umm."

"What's the matter with you, Sara?"

"Umm. I, well."

"Sara." She could do this.

"What?" She turned toward him, bent on being professional. Professional like Greg's lips capturing hers, and in one swift movement, his hand had left the back of her chair, and had woven themselves into her coppery brown curls, applying the faintest hint of pressure, holding her to him. Greg moved in slow motion, gently caressing each atom of her mouth in a tantalizing ritual reminiscent of a devout worshipper at a Sunday service.

Oh god, she was going to come right there in the layout room.

He pulled away gently, resting his forehead against hers. When she raised her eyes to meet his gaze, she found that lopsided grin plastered on his face, and a playful sparkle in his eyes. Behind the sparkle, however, she saw a brand of love and affection that she had really only read about in trashy romance novels.

"I, umm." Now it was Greg's turn to misplace his vocabulary. "I just, well, you, and then, I felt, so I, umm." He shifted his weight nervously, and flashed her a smile.

"I hope that wasn't too forward of me." He cleared his throat, and opened his mouth to speak, when the shrill ring of the cell phone at his hip bleared through the room. He stood up, flipping the offending abject open, raising it to his ear, eyes never leaving hers.

"Sanders." Suddenly his eyes brightened from the cocoa pigmentation they had adapted a few minutes ago to their usual chestnut. "Whoa, no way." He grinned wider, taking no notice that Sara was still recovering from the mind blowing revelation in their relationship. "I'll be right there." He shut the phone and replaced it on her hip.

"That was Brass. He and Sofia just brought in our suspect, get this, pulled him over for speeding, found our dead body in the back seat, tag still on the toe, as blue as when he left the morgue." He was at the door, practically prancing. "Are you coming or am I interrogating by my onesies?" He sobered as he realized she hadn't moved. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his, this time, across the distance of the layout room. "Sara?"

"Umm. Yeah, you do the talking. You're ready." She tried in vain to return to a normal body heat, a normal pulse rate, to relieve the redness from her cheeks. She stopped short at the door, coming face to face once again with Greg Sanders. "Well? Are you going to go?" She backed up a half step, making breathing space between them.

"Of course, this is awesome. Are you going to come with, or are you going to finish off." Her eyes widened and he cracked a smile. "With the lab work."

She smacked him playfully with the case file, and followed him out into the hall.

"This is neither the time nor the place, Mr. Sanders, you'd have to buy me dinner first, but even then I don't 'finish off' on a first date." She grinned.

"You asking me out, Miss Sidle? Or should we just skip the first date and move on to the second?" His voice had dropped to the husky quality it had in the layout room.

"Mmm. Let's start with coffee, ok?" She smiled at him as he grinned like the wild child lab rat he was when she met him.

"The sludge in the break room count?"


	2. Chapter 2

Greg Sanders was a patient man.

However, in the last hour and a half, since his lips had left Sara's, he had become annoyingly impatient. He leaned against the end of the row of lockers, grinning madly at the brunette at the other end of the room.

"Ready?" She turned at his voice, and smiled shyly.

"Look, Greg, I-"

"I just figured, you'd, umm, you know, want to talk about feelings or something, get all girly and estrogen filled." He his smile faltered as he became suddenly interested in the floor. She closed her locker, then the gap between them. He raised his gaze back to her face when he realized he was staring at her shoes, inches away from his. "I wouldn't want you to not have any estrogen, I didn't mean that in a negative way, I just, well, you know how girls get- well, I guess you don't, seeing as you are one, but I've seen this before, and you know, Dr. Phil says that women and men would relate better if they let their emotions out, and I really want to not screw this up, well, I mean, I like you with the estrogen, you know, it's kinda nice, what I mean is, umm, I like your estrogen."

"Greg." Sara was mere inches away; he could feel her breath on his neck. Oh god. Suddenly his jeans felt snug. He must. Not. Blow this.

"What?" His voice was back to the hoarse whisper again. He watched in awe as her eyes darkened a few shades. His gaze dropped to her lips, and he instantly knew that it was a bad move. All his body heat settled in his belly, all the blood in his body rushed to the crotch of his jeans, which were becoming uncomfortable. He had to not mess this up. This was his one chance. Oh god.

He was jolted back to reality when she slipped her index finger into the side of his belt and pulled his hips flush with hers.

Whoa.

"Sar-" His breath hitched suddenly as her lips grazed along his jawbone. She stepped carefully around his foot, zipper of her fly dragging lightly across the thigh of the front of his leg. "Good God." He whispered, her hand had begun to drag after her body, she was still moving, slowly. Her delicate fingers came to rest around the soft leather of his belt, her lips paused at his ear.

"First dates are overrated, Gregory." Her breath was warm in his ear. She took his earlobe briefly between her lips, running we tongue along the soft skin in a tantalizing manner that nearly had him come in his pants like a fourteen year old kid.

"Umm." He turned his head to face her, jaw dropped in astonishment at her seductive display. She reached up, and pulled his head forward, meeting his lips in a delicate kiss. His words were coming back to him slowly. "They're for people who don't really know each other, so they can validate the physical intimacy that ensures as soon as the check is taken away." He smiled, genuinely. "People like, us, Sara Jane, we have no use for formalities." He touched his forehead to hers. He cradled her face in his hands, and he shivered as he felt hers come to rest on the waistband of his jeans, slipping under the hem of his shirt.

She stood up on her tiptoes, and kissed him again. She leaned against him, and he retreated slightly, his jeans were still uncomfortably tight, and he really really really didn't want to blow this. He pulled back from her kiss, and dropped his hands, bending to pick up his bag, and slung it over his shoulder.

"Which one of us has a cleaner apartment, then?" He threw her a lazy grin, and tried not to be distracted by the swell of her lips. She returned his smile, and raised her keys.

"I'll drive."

…………… 

Sara felt the heat in her abdomen return as she stopped at the third red light in about sixty feet. Not because of the red light, although that was starting to piss her off. Greg had left his Denali at the lab, and was currently humming along with the crap that was seeping out of her radio. It wasn't his humming that turned her on, though. He was nonchalantly tracing nonsense shapes on her thigh, and now that she had stopped him traffic, his fingers roamed higher, inches away from the furnace that had moved into her body.

She chanced a glance at him, but he was looking out the window.

Greg Sanders was a patient man.

He could wait through six more lights. That was it, though. Three was already too many. If his touch did half of what her touch did to him, she would be moaning in crumpled sheets in no time. He had six years premeditation on this one. He could wait another twenty minutes.

…………….

Sara unlocked the door to her apartment with a soft click. Her feet denied her mobility, however, and Greg picked up on her hesitancy easily. Like she could hide that from him, he spent six years memorizing her expressions and her mannerisms. He raised a hand, reaching out to touch the small of her back with his fingers.

"I'll go." His tone was even, the tambre of his voice concerned. He didn't want to pressure her; that would be ugly from everyone. She glanced at him, a shy smile playing on her lips. She lifted an eyebrow suggestively. "Or I could stay."

He watched in disbelief as she opened the door and crossed the threshold. Oh god. He followed her in, and pressed the door shut behind him, eyes never leaving her figure. She shrugged off her jacket, and tossed her keys into a dish. He dropped his duffel bag unceremoniously and ungracefully, as she turned to face him.

"When one starts something, Mr. Sanders, one must be prepared to follow through." He only nodded, crinkling his brow in agreement, and pulled her to him, crushing his lips to hers, sliding his tongue beyond her parted lips, immediately deepening the kiss. Greg poured his heart out to her tenderly kissing her with the earnest passion, the raw emotions that he felt, every time she looked at him.

He kissed her with six years of longing and pent up energies. Before he got ahead of himself, however, he needed to tell her that she was everything to him, and he was not going to be a one-night stand. She needed to understand that if they were to finish what they had started tonight, he had to know that there was hope of starting something tomorrow.

Greg pulled away from her kiss, and put at least two feet between them. He held up a hand, silencing her protests, and acknowledging her confusion.

"What, Greg?"

"I have something to say." Greg shifted his weight, and took a deep breath, in and out.

"Go on, then." Sara had perched herself on the arm of the couch, and crossed her arms in an embarrassed, defeated manner. This was it. It was a mistake. He was going to tell her all he could give her was the sex, that they couldn't have a relationship because they were colleagues. He was going to tell her that he had a bet going with Nick and Warrick to see how fast he could get her turned on and naked. She watched him take a slow, deep breath. Oh god.

"Hear me out, ok?" He shoved his hands in his pockets, and his expression was apprehensive, nervous, and reminiscent of a second grader caught picking his nose.

"Alright."

"Don't speak. I want to get this out before I lose my nerve." He stopped, taking his hands out of his pockets, balling them together. "Ok. I don't want to be just a dent on your bedroom wall. I have six years of lust and adoration and dirty thoughts invested in our projected activities in the other room, and I just want to make sure that this is real. By real, I mean that I will tell you flat out that I have dreamed of the day that I would be lucky enough to kiss you to sleep and kiss you awake, and if you want all of that, then I will stay, but if you were thinking that this wouldn't go past an hour and a half from now, then I am going to duck out now, because I won't survive if you toss me aside, leave a note on the pillow, or never want to see me again." He took a step forward, eyes shimmering with passion, and blinding, unconditional love. He gestured down the hall, where the door to her bedroom was half open, and the neatly assembled bed was in sight, dropping his voice to a scratchy whisper that had turned her on so quickly hours before. "We go down that hall, Sara, and everything changes."

"Everything already has."

Greg smiled heartily, and bent to kiss her, coming to stand against her. Delicate fingers lightly pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and he let it drop at his feet, concentrating on ridding her of the dark, formfitting camisole that lay underneath the light sweater she had already shed. She briskly fumbled with the hem of his tee shirt, pushing it over his head after running her hands over the smooth plains of his torso. Her fingers gently tugged his belt loose, and unfastened the top button of his jeans.

Greg turned his attention to the nape of her neck, pressing tantalizing kisses along her neck, moving to her shoulder, and collarbone. He felt her arms wrap around his neck, her fingers rub against his back. He pushed away the thin strap of her bra, and, in reaching behind her, made it fall open and tugged it the rest of the way off her frame. She looked over at the coffee table, dropping the discarded article on top of the latest copy of the _Journal of Forensic Science_.

When she turned back to him, Greg pressed a kiss to her forehead. From there he bent, and placed a loving kiss just below her ear, then moved further, gently flicked the sensitive skin of her nipple with his tongue.

He was rewarded with the sexiest, most arousing noise he had ever heard in his life.

A soft moan had slipped from Sara's lips.

How they ended up on Sara's bed, he would never remember. Regardless, he had dreamed of this very day for years, and he was determined to act out each of his fantasies. He laid her down tenderly, and stilled her urgent movements, silenced her protests with a finger to her lips, already swollen from kisses. He hovered above her, opening her legs with a wandering knee. He pushed coppery brown curls out of her face, and pressed a chaste kiss to her temple. She caught his lips as they passed by her own, and Greg temporarily forgot his premeditated plan of action. She tugged at his scraggly hair, pulling his head to hers, and holding it there. He felt her wrap her legs around his waist, and the sudden pressure of the intimate part of her panties rubbing against his erection, even through his jeans was too much for him. Before he could think of his next move, Sara had flipped him on his back, and had straddled him, tugging at the zipper of his fly. She made short work of his jeans and boxers, unceremoniously tossing them aside.

Greg gritted his teeth and blew out a labored moan as her gentle fingers wrapped around him snugly. _C'mon, Sanders, discipline_, he thought. She chuckled hoarsely on top of him, and leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. Greg took this opportunity to flip her back onto the bedspread, and yanked the thin cotton panties down her legs and off her body in one fluid motion.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered into her ear, pleased when she shivered involuntarily at his words. He reached out, and traced the shaped of her breast lightly with his fingers. In shifting, his erection rubbed up the side of her inner thigh.

"Oh God, Greg." He caught her hand, however, as it shot out to feel him between their bodies. She moaned again as he let out that throaty laugh into her ear.

"Not just yet." He twisted her arm up over her head, immobilizing her hand. Her other hand had found it's way to his hip, but it wasn't going to be in the way there, so he let it stay. He slid his free hand between their bodies, and just as she began to protest, she felt the jolt run through her veins as his fingers found her most sensitive spot. Her hips bucked into his hand, and she squirmed beneath him, crumpling the sheets.

"Please, Greg." Her features scrunched into a tormented expression, the walls around her heart were caving in, and he could only watch as the stoic, guarded Sara burnt to nothing, leaving this new emotive, womanly side of Sara, his Sara, that he had known was there, buried in her, all along. He smiled, quickening his rhythm.

"Just tell me what you want." She let out an exasperated groan.

"You," she breathed, "are _torturing_ me." He chuckled into her kiss, and slipped into her, reluctant to cause her any more unresolved tension, unable to deny her what he had dreamed of since his days in the DNA lab.

…………

Greg awoke the next morning noticing two things instantly. One, the midday sunlight was blinding him. Two, his pillow had breasts. He squinted in the light, and propped himself up onto his elbow, casting his gaze towards Sara's sleeping form. The sunshine tumbled over her bare shoulder, falling into his eyes. She was turned toward him on her side, and he was facing her, arm still tossed casually over her hip, legs still tangled in her own. Slowly and gently, Greg untangled his legs from Sara's, and dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead, careful not to disturb her, as he climbed out of bed. He picked his boxers up from the floor, and slipping them over his hips as he silently made his way to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. And a tee shirt. He needed to find a tee shirt.

He found his tee shirt from yesterday in the hall, and pulled it over his head. He made his way to the kitchen, and silently rummaged through Sara's cabinets until he located the coffee tin, and the filters. Today was going to be difficult; they would have to determine the nature of their relationship. But right now, in the early afternoon sunlight, Greg was content to just make coffee, and head back into the bedroom and pull Sara against him, and whisper in her sleeping ear that he loved her, and he would never leave her.

Greg poured freshly brewed coffee into two large mugs, and set about fixing Sara's the way she liked it. He made his way back to the bedroom, and set the steamy mugs down on the nightstand. He climbed back into bed, and pulled Sara's sleeping body towards his, wrapped his arms tightly around her, and pressed gentle kisses to her bare shoulder.

Slowly, Sara began to stir.

"Mmmmpht." Sara noticed two things instantly. One, the early afternoon sunshine was burning her corneas. And two, her blanket had arms. And a body. And it was Greg.

She felt him press a soft kiss to her shoulder, and a surge of warmth spread from the contact. She snuggled into his embrace, and slowly rubbed the sleep from her eyes. When she opened them, she was greeted with the sight of Greg with his arm thrown back over her hip, holding her close, with a signature lopsided grin of his face.

"Good morning, sunshine." Greg pushed a stray hair out of her eyes, and placed a kiss on her forehead.

"Good morning yourself." He rolled over to the nightstand, releasing her body. She groaned at the loss of contact, but he handed her a mug of coffee that was still steaming. She accepted the coffee, and sat up, cross-legged, to face him. They sat in comfortable silence for several moments, Greg staring at his feet, which were laid out on the bed, Sara staring into the vat of coffee in her hands.

"We should talk about this." Sara raised her gaze from the coffee to Greg's face.

"Agreed." He sat up, mimicking her position, his legs inches away from her own. Sara smiled as she was reminded of the end of some Molly Ringwald movie from the eighties. It was Greg who spoke first. "Where should we start?"

"I think I'd want to start at 'Wow.'" She raised the coffee to her lips.

"That was definitely the best sex I've ever had."

"Where do we go from here?"

"Wherever you want." Panic flashed across his expression as she bit her lip, and hesitated.

"I want it all, Greg. I just want to be happy." Panic turned to astonished joy, and Greg smile widened to a grin not unlike that of a small child on Christmas morning.

"I promise to make you happy."

"You already do."

Greg closed the short distance between them, and kissed her in earnest, plucking the half empty mug of coffee from her hands, and laying her back on the bed to kiss her all over again. Her laughter rang through the room.

He had wanted this for six years, but hearing her, seeing her, touching her, kissing her, laying on top of her was overwhelmed with the sensation of coming home, and Greg Sanders knew that all he ever wanted, all he ever needed, all he would ever love, was wriggling beneath him, laughing in his ear, and kissing him back with a new brand of passion he had already fallen a victim to.


	3. Chapter 3

Sara leaned up against the counter to give her leverage to reach the filters that Warrick had moved to the top shelf. She grabbed the box, and set about making a fresh pot of coffee.

"Hey, imagine meeting you here." Greg entered the break room, and tossed their files on the table. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, and crossed the room to her side, stooping to inhale the aroma of the fresh grounds in the tin. "Everything is dropped off, and Archie is going to process the audio from the answering machine after he finishes with the porn video from Grissom's case." Greg bent and pressed a kiss to her temple, making her smile. "We finally have a break." He looked terrible, but he had managed a way to make terrible well, sexy.

"I need a vat of this I think. Or 36 hours off." Sara turned, leaning against the counter, considering him. "You look terrible." She screwed her expression into one of worry and concern. He raised a questioning eyebrow at her as he flopped down on the couch against the opposite wall.

"Gee, Sara Jane, we agreed, no foreplay at work." He rubbed his eyes like a child.

"Unfortunately you can wash away the smell of death, but you can't wash away the look of it. Not with lemons, any way."

"Stop already you're turning me on." His deadpan brought a smile to her lips. He leaned back on the couch, and stretched his long legs out before him, crossing his ankles, knitting his fingers together over his stomach. His eyes closed, but she knew he was still awake, a tired smile played on the corners of his mouth.

"D'you think we should say something?" She lowered her voice. He popped one eye open, carefully observing her, sitting on the counter, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.

"What happened to making out in the layout room and letting them figure it out?" She laughed quietly, leaning her tired frame against the hanging cabinets.

"I'm serious, Greg."

"How about falling asleep together on this couch."

"Greg."

"I'm going to do it, with or without you."

"Gregory."

"In all seriousness, Sara, this lab spreads and fabricates rumors better than a junior high. I would honestly rather not say anything, but that's because I don't want it to interfere with our work, and we are the best team this shift has, Grissom said it himself." Greg close his eyes again, well aware of both Sara's uncertainty, and his own growing fatigue. "We work well together, we have the highest solve rate in the county."

"So coming forth with an evolution in the companionship that we have had would, by employee conduct guidelines, be grounds to split us up. If we split up, one of us will go to swing, and one of us will stay on nights, and the hours that we so fondly fill up with each other's company will slip away to solitude." Sara reasoned as she hopped off the counter, and reached for the mugs, pouring one for Greg and one for herself.

"Solitude. I think it scares me more than Ecklie on the warpath."

"Here." He sat up at her voice, taking the mug of hot coffee she had poured him, and brought to him across the room. She bit her lip as the tips of his fingers grazed hers, and bent to press a light kiss to his hair before retreating back to her perch against the cabinets.

"Thank you." His voice became a whisper, emulating the weariness his body felt. He took a long sip, and leaned back against the couch, mug in his lap. "You need sleep."

"I do not. You're the one that's falling asleep on the couch."

"I love this couch. Excellent support. Years of use to break it in. Perfect for cuddling."

"And the day I want to get fired, I promise we can curl up on that thing."

"Feel like being fired?"

"Not just yet." She smiled in full at him, but he had closed his eyes several minutes ago, even though he was occasionally sipped the steaming coffee in his mug. They sat in silence, at either ends of the break room, for several minutes. "Greg?"

"Mmhmm."

"Our solve rate won't be affected by this, will it?"

"No, I should think not. We are professionals, after all."

"Do you really believe that or are you placating me?"

"Keeping quiet would benefit the city of Las Vegas, because it would keep us together. Keep us together, because we are the poster children of the crime lab. If they split us up, there would be questions." He drained his mug and stood to refill it. "Besides," He came to stand next to her, reaching out for the coffee maker. "I don't want to have to break in another Level 3, I like you bossing me around just fine." She grinned at him, and pressed a kiss to the side of his face.

"Thanks. I like bossing you around." He looked up at her, returning her grin, and accepted the chaste kiss she offered. She hopped back off the counter, and relocated to the table, spreading the files out in front of her, organizing the multitude of documentation. "Predictions on what we'll get back from DNA?" She asked him, looking over the autopsy report from one of their victims.

"Hopefully a match to any one of our three contestants."

"Mia is moving slower, she's backed up."

"And she's four months pregnant."

"You know what that means."

"She's going to have a kid in five months?" Greg pulled a few documents closer to him, scanning their contents.

"We aren't going to have a DNA tech while she's on maternity leave." Sara glanced at him, he had finally come to stand next to her. Greg groaned miserably.

"Grissom's going to pull me isn't he?"

"I overheard him and Ecklie talking about it at the beginning of shift."

"That sucks."

"We need a DNA lab, Greg. And no temp is going to stay that long or do the quality of work we need."

"It still sucks." He flopped into the chair at the table opposite her, and rested his head in his arms like a third grader waiting for recess. She grinned at him as she stood to get more coffee, and he pouted back at her, sleepily sticking out his tongue at her.

"Very mature, Mr. I'm a Big Time CSI and Can't be Bothered with the DNA Lab."

"It's still another four or five months until then. And when have I ever been mature about anything." He closed his eyes, listening to her footfalls leave the counter with the coffee, and come to stand behind him. He grinned lazily as she kissed the side of his head lovingly. "Mmmm not at work, Sara."

"Yeah, ok." She wove her arms around him, and tightened her grip in an embrace. He touched her arm, lowering his head to press a chaste kiss on her forearm. "Get some sleep, Greg, you look like shit." She withdrew her arms from around him, and rubbed his shoulders gently, watching him as every muscle in his body relaxed.

"Woman, those hands are magic."

"Yeah, yeah, just relax, will you." Greg slouched back, into her touch.

"People will see." His voice was just above a whisper.

"We did this before."

"But now I have a guilty conscious."

"A well earned one at that."

"Mmhmm. Speak for yourself, you were the one waking up the neighbors this morning. Ouch." He felt her hand lightly smack the crown of his head. "What?" She was about to reply when Hodges stuck his head in the door.

"Hey. DNA results are in." He handed the report to Sara, and left. Sara flipped through the documents, and paused.

"What?" He stood against her, reading over her shoulder. "Dammit."

"Yeah." He felt her slump against his chest. "I was pulling for the boyfriend."

"My money was on the husband."

"And the winner is the kid. His DNA on the gardening spike."

"I'll call Brass." Greg flipped open his phone and pressed the 8, heading for the door, leaving Sara, who was still looking through the results, and had started to compile it with the other papers in the file. She took a deep breath, drained the rest of her coffee, and followed Greg out of the break room.

……..

Sara stood behind the two-way mirror of the interrogation room, tensely observing Greg's questioning of fifteen year old Jeremy Felkin. Brass stood beside her, obviously not as visibly worried as Sara. He considered her carefully, before speaking softly.

"He's a hell of a CSI, Sara." She smiled distractedly, nodding at his compliment.

"He always had it in him."

"He had a great mentor."

"He's an enthusiastic student." She smiled at Greg, who was adeptly leveling with the teenager, kindly but firmly inquiring as to his actions involving his stepmother's death, and the presence of his DNA on the weapon. "You think he's going to be able to coax a confession out of the kid?" Brass snorted.

"Well, he coaxed you out of your pants a few weeks back didn't he?" Sara turned to Brass, shocked.

"What did you just say?"

"You know," he smiled smugly. "You CSIs think you have everyone fooled. And you do. 'Cept us ancient romantics in PD." Brass turned back to the scene before him, watching Greg talk with his hands, and in the process, make the distraught Jeremy crack a smile, tension instantly easing in his shoulders. Jeremy rubbed his hands over his eyes rigorously, and Greg glanced at the mirror, touching his earlobe. Brass looked to Sara, he had never seen the younger man do that before.

"What was that?"

"Brushing his nose with his hand means the kid is getting emotional, and touching his earlobe means the kid is listening to him, and the tap on his arm means he just needs more time." Brass fully turned away from the mirror and stared disbelieving at Sara. "What?"

"If he could see you, the two of you would be having a conversation around our suspect. And I missed half of that."

"It's become quite effective actually. Secret to our solve rate. Don't spread it around."

"Clever."

"Mmm." Sara narrowed her eyes at the pair before her, and quickly flipped through copies of the photos of Mrs. Feltin's body.

"What?"

"The kid's testimony isn't complying with the injuries on our vic."

"What does he say we should do?"

"_I_ say we detain the husband and the boyfriend a little bit longer, and Greg and I will tackle them."

…………

Seven hours, four interrogations, and two arrests later, Greg Sanders leaned back in the chair at the interrogation table, closing his eyes, and rubbing his face. He slipped the documentation back in order, and closed the file cover.

"You did well." Grissom was standing at the door of the interrogation room.

"Thanks. I thought it would feel better than this though." Greg rested his head on his arms, casting his gaze on his supervisor.

"What would?"

"Putting criminals behind bars. This just feels empty." Grissom smiled at his youngest CSI, and took the seat across from him.

"What did you think it was going to feel like?"

"I don't know, satisfactory. You know, like for once the scrawny science geek gets to stick it to the macho jock bully instead of to another science geek."

"Science is like the force, Greg." Greg lifted his head, and cocked his eyebrow questioningly. Grissom sat back, considering the younger man in front of him.

"How's that?"

"Those who use science for destructive or hurtful purposes, such as your science geek in lock up tend to fall into the hands of the dark side, while those of us who fight their acts of violence and rage are more reminiscent of the Rebel fleet." Greg smiled at this, and propped his head up with a hand.

"That would make you Ben Kenobi?"

"Leaving you as the young Skywalker, who has much to learn." Grissom stood, and ruffled Greg's unruly, scraggly brown hair as he left. "Go home, Greg." The door shut quietly behind him, and Greg shook his head, a smile on his lips. Grissom, the ever-flowing fountain of obscure knowledge, never ceased to amaze him. For someone who looked at human nature as a biological phenomenon, he sure knew how to strike inspiration in the hearts of his employees. He rose to his feet, and gathered the file, finding his way to the locker room. Go home, indeed.

He opened his locker, taking his jacket off the hook, and slipping the file into his bag to finish at home. He smiled at Sara as she breezed through, grabbing her own coat and waiting for him by the door.

…………

Greg dropped his bag and jacket unceremoniously on the dining room table that was already cluttered with paperwork. He made a beeline straight for the kitchen, pulling out mugs for coffee and plates for the pancakes that he was about to make. She followed him into the kitchen, taking out the milk and two eggs, putting them in a small bowl before wrapping her arms around his middle and snuggling into his back affectionately.

"Hey Sara?"

"Mmhmm."

"Would you sleep with Luke Skywalker?"

"Only if he looked like you instead of Mark Hamill." He smiled at the kiss she pressed to his shoulder blade as he poured pancake batter into a skillet. "But I think that would be taking it to a whole new level of kinky I'm not quite ready for yet, however."

"But you _would_ sleep with him?"

Her laughter against his shoulder was enough of an answer for him.


	4. Chapter 4

Sara Sidle stretched out on the comfy, broken in couch at Greg's apartment. Her body lay across the whole of the seat of the couch, her back against the cushions, her hands knitted behind her head. Greg Sanders returned from his brief hiatus in the kitchen with a bowl of her favorite kind of popcorn in hand, but stopped at the doorjamb, leaning against it, bowl on his hip, observing the fascinating creature sprawled out across his couch. Her eyelids had become heavy, and she had fallen asleep there, half covered in a throw blanket, and nestled in his chess team hoodie from college.

He silently placed the bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table in front of her, and tiptoed past her to his bedroom down the hall. He reached into his dresser drawer, and extracted a small velvet box. Inside was his Grandma Elsa's engagement ring, the one Papa Olaf had given him when he was nineteen. He removed it from its hiding spot, and crossed the apartment, to his leather jacket draped over a chair near the door. He slipped the box into the pocket, turning to the sleeping woman on his couch.

He would marry her, that he was certain of.

Greg Sanders came to sit on the edge of the couch, against her hips. She stirred, but only just.

"Sara." He whispered. He leaned over, and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple.

"Mmmpht." She rubbed her eyes. "Oh, Greg, I'm sorry. I only closed my eyes for-"

"For a minute I know." He smiled brightly. "Sara, as sexy as you make my tattered old hoodie look, I think it would be better on the floor, yeah?" He hovered over her, shifting his body weight over her, coming to lie on top of her. She met his kiss, her fingers instinctively tangling in the soft waves of his scraggly hair at the base of his neck. He broke the kiss as quickly as he settled in for it, and sat up, straddling her. He flashed her a playful grin and just as she started to protest, he was showering her with a handful of the popcorn from the bowl.

Her shriek of laughter filled the room, and the sight of her thrashing about beneath him, laughing and batting away the kernels as they fell made him realize that he had fallen in love with the most perfect, astounding woman, and that he should give thanks for being allowed to be in her life.

He stilled her protesting movements, and continued the kiss they had started before. He deepened it, slowly, teasing her with his tongue. He captured her lower lip in his, sucking gently. She moaned softly, pushing him away only just.

"What is it?" Greg retreated from her instantly, and she felt cold because of the sudden loss of body heat.

"I love you." She spoke, barely above a whisper. The palm of her hand touched his cheek softly, and she felt tears well up in her eyes as they pooled in his.

"Really?" He whispered back, with the awe of a child learning about a trip to Disney World. His eyes lit up, and a grin spread across his face. She smiled back, nodding.

"Really." She lapsed into giggles as he wrapped his arms around her, and hugged her tightly. "Greg!" He pressed kisses along her neck, hitting a sensitive spot. "Gregory!"

He pulled her roughly to him, and snuggled into her shoulder. They fit perfectly on his couch, finally resting to face the television, the length of Sara's body pressed against his, and he pulled the throw blanket over them both. She rested her hand over his, which had found it's way around her stomach. He pressed a final kiss to her temple, and settled down on the couch to fall asleep to the sound of the comedy on the television, popcorn forgotten on the coffee table as they both nodded off to sleep, snuggled into each other's embrace.

All was right with the world, Greg thought. All he really needed he had on this battered old couch. Lazy mornings, like these, that followed frantic nights at the lab, like last night, were always welcome to Greg and Sara if only for the guaranteed comfort of human contact. And, he thought, as he started to doze, she had come out and said that she loved him. She already had his heart, and he had made the decision, he wanted his grandmother's diamond on her hand.


	5. Chapter 5

Nick Stokes had given up on the evidence they had pondered over for hours now, instead, focusing on observing Greg and Sara. They had been effectively pouring most of their energy into keeping at least three feet between them at all times. And they were failing miserably. It wasn't really that big of a deal, they were having a slow night, and this was a cold case, from '98. He was reexamining the crime scene photos, while Sara was reevaluating the autopsy reports, and Greg gathered the blood and semen samples to retest with the new equipment.

He always suspected something was going on between them, even more these last few weeks. He bent over to examine a photo of blood spatter on the kitchen stove, but watched his friends out of the corner of his eye. Thank god he had started to grow his hair long, as dark brown bangs fell into his eyes, hiding his gaze. Greg held a box with the samples in it with one arm. As he brushed past Sara, to the door, he placed a hand on her hip, causing her to turn toward him. He bent, whispering something inaudible in her ear, making her grin, before making his way to the door, and out into the hallway, toward Mia's lab.

Now Nick had seen Greg touch Sara countless times before, and vice versa. But there was a level of intimacy in their exchange that hadn't been there a few weeks ago. Sara had smiled warmly at his whispering, and hadn't seemed startled by his hand on her hip, even for the briefest of moments. There was, instead of the sexual tension he usually picked up on between them, an elemental comfort in each other's presence.

Greg was comfortable enough to touch her like that, and Sara was comfortable enough to let him.

They were sleeping together.

Nick stood, resting his knuckles on the layout table, hips against the edge. Something was going on with Sara.

"Plans for your birthday?" She glanced up at him, giving him a bright smile.

"Yes, actually."

"Beyond the chocolate cake date we always have?" He cocked an eyebrow at her. They always split a piece of chocolate cake on his birthday in August, and hers in September. Today was Sara's birthday.

"Yes. But I would never stand you up for cake, you know that." She smiled again, turning to glance at the door that Greg had left through moments earlier, before turning back to him and the autopsy report. He squinted, catching a glimpse of her earrings as she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Do they involve the guy who gave you those?" He nodded toward her earrings, each two slim little slivers of silver that twisted around each other. Simple. Elegant. Totally Sara. Come to think of it, they looked like a strand of DNA.

They were sleeping together.

"Yeah. He surprised me this morning." She stood, smirking at him. "I never told you they were from a guy, Stokes." Nick smiled sweetly, letting out a laugh.

"You never told me you were sleeping with Greg, either." Her eyes widened as the words left his mouth. Instead of chucking an empty evidence swap box at him, and rolling her eyes, she blushed deeply, biting her lip, lowering her gaze away from his.

"Not so loud. We haven't said anything."

"Yet." Nick swallowed, blatantly staring at his best friend, not quite believing what he was seeing. She met his gaze after a few moments, smiling at him.

"We didn't want the seventh graders we have for lab tech to start crazy rumors." She had lowered her voice barely above a whisper, glancing at the door. Nick crossed his arms over his chest, a soft grin forming on his features.

"I won't say a thing."

"Thanks." She took a deep breath that hitched in her throat. "How did you know?"

"Well, one, Greg has been fidgeting incessantly the last few weeks, in that 'I-can't-keep-a-secret-but-I'm-trying-really-hard-anyways' kind of way. Two, you didn't roll your eyes and blow him off when he touched you just there, and three, well, your earrings look like tiny DNA strands." Nick ran a hand through his hair. "Well, and you've got laugh lines. Jus there." He pointed to the corners of his eyes. She let out a soft chuckle, leaning over the autopsy report again.

"Definitely blame that on Greg."

"If he hurts you, I'll kill him."

"Thanks."

"Just don't break his heart, Sara."

"I would never." She leaned forward, conspiratorially, dropping her voice to a whisper. "I love him."


	6. Chapter 6

No matter how hard Greg Sanders worked at his professional poker face, Sara knew that he was barely hanging on, barely making it through the fire case they had just wrapped. He had been ok when they thought it was arson, but when she left him in the kitchen to process the stove, he found trace remnants of an exploded kettle… kettle exploded, boiling water burned their victim, she ran screaming into the living room, where she passed out, and was engulfed in flames as the oven mitt caught fire, and the house burned to the ground.

She followed him into the locker room, carefully observing his silence and his shaking hands as he opened his locker to toss in his vest. He ran his fingers through his hair, disheveling it slightly. She reached out to him, from the other side of the bench, and her fingers brushed the back of his black field vest lightly. He took a deep breath, but made no motion to face her.

"Greg." She was startled when he quickly shrugged off her touch.

"I'm fine."

"You're not. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made you process the stove."

"Really, Sara, I'm ok." He unzipped his vest, and sat on the edge of the bench to change his sneakers, but rested his head in his hands instead. She squinted at him in concern, and hesitantly reached out to him again. She breathed out relief as he made no motion to rid himself of her touch. Greg didn't, however relax under her touch like he usually did when her fingers found his shoulders. With no response, she stepped around to his side, placing a hand on her hip, and leaving one at the base of his neck.

"I'm sorry, Greg." Her voice was barely a whisper. She ran her hand from his neck down his back a ways, in an attempt to soothe pain she could only imagine was radiating from the pinkish streak that spread along the length of his back, from the lab explosion. It was barely visible now, the only one still there years later. Greg inhaled deeply, and wrapped an arm around her waist affectionately. He pulled her toward him even more, and she stepped around to the other side of the bench, letting him rest his head against her stomach.

"I just need a minute." After several breaths, Greg lifted his head from her abdomen, and made an attempt at a weary half smile. The early morning sunshine had filtered in through the window clad in blinds at the end of the row of lockers, falling onto the two of them gently. Greg pulled at her waist again, and Sara stepped over the bench, coming to sit in his lap, facing him, feet dangling on the other side. She quickly recognized his need for contact, and pressed a kiss to his hair as he buried his features in the crook of her neck, arms tightly woven around her waist, under her field vest that she hadn't removed yet. The intimacy of their embrace moved her, and she brushed away a tear quickly.

"Ice cream always makes me feel better after a tough case." She whispered, smiling when she felt his chuckle ring through her body softly. He lifted his head to face her, and she was pleased to see a trace of the lopsided grin she loved. His gaze wandered from her eyes to her lips, and he pressed a gentle, loving kiss to them before pulling back and resting his forehead against hers. She grinned at him, encouragingly lifting his spirits a bit.

"I have a pint of Ben and Jerry's in my freezer."

"Your place it is." Sara held a hand on one side of his face, and placed a kiss to his cheek, making his smile. "Let's go."

An hour and a half later, ice cream forgotten, Greg lay on his back, fingers playing gently with Sara's soft curls. She had fallen asleep after the double they had pulled, hugging him tightly to her body, one knee wedged lazily between his thighs. Her head rested on his chest, one arm flung across his stomach, lettering on his old sweatshirt visible on the sleeve; "Capt. Sanders" in dark crimson embroidered print. His eyes followed her arm, the faded heather grey of the sweatshirt contrasting the navy of his tee shirt. He tilted his head, bringing the back decal into view. "Stanford Chess" in the Stanford script, half hidden by the blanket wrapped about Sara's waist. He slipped his fingers under the hood, running his hand along her shoulder blades gently. She stirred in her sleep, pulling him tighter, and reached out for his other hand, tangling her fingers in his over his stomach. She snuggled into him further, still laying half on top of him.

Greg had chased the thoughts and images of the fire and the burn victim from his mind with difficulty over an hour ago. Sara had climbed into bed with him, pulled the covers over their bodies, holding him like a girlfriend, speaking to him like a mentor. She had eased his anxiety over the case, and reassuring him that everyone has genres of cases that get to them. She hated domestic abuse. Nick couldn't handle child molestation. Catherine was queasy when it came to child abductions, Warrick got anxious over scenes in his old neighborhood. His weakness was burn cases, but in time he would learn to focus the apprehension he felt into motivation, and he would find himself an expert in fire and arson in no time, turning his weakness into strength.

Greg-the-student let out a sigh, wanting to believe Sara-the-mentor. He had become a CSI for many reasons, but the lingering subconscious one was that it was simply a route to escape the lab without leaving the city. His thoughts were broken by a whisper.

"Worrying and obsessing and losing sleep over a case is _my_ forte, Gregory." She hadn't moved, but her fingers tightened their grip on his own.

"Am not." He smiled to himself as he felt her laugh on his abdomen.

"I can be a better distraction."

"You distract me just fine." His smile broadened a fraction as she rolled on top of him, meeting his gaze.

"I can do better." She arched an eyebrow at him, as if asking him if he was up to the challenge.

"Really." He cracked a grin as she nodded, wavy curls cascading around her face. She leaned over him and kissed him chastely, before pulling away. He squinted at her, considering her kiss before speaking. "Hrmm. Yes, now I'm cured." His sarcastic tone was in jest, but she held his gaze, a sly smile on her lips. She slid partway off him, dragging her fingers along the length of his stomach, pushing his boxers dangerously low on his hips. His hand slipped under the sweatshirt, feeling her skin beneath his fingers.

"Oh, I wasn't finished." Her eyes sparkled, darkening a few shades, her tone innocent and unassuming.

"Ah ha. I get it." Greg pushed her the rest of the way off him before her fingers ventured any lower. He leaned over her, catching her light, gentle kisses that left her out of breath.

"Greg!" She half whined, half laughed, in protest of his attentive kisses, and wandering hands.

"You are better than a distraction, Sara. You're the love of my life." He pressed a slow kiss to her neck. "Everyday I wake up, and I can't tell if it's real or if I'm still dreaming." She grinned, and roughly pushed him off her, tumbling him onto his back, landing on top of him.

"I can pinch you if you want, but this is real."


	7. Chapter 7

"Nuh uh."

"Yeah huh."

"Nuh uh."

"Yeah huh."

"Liar."

"No you."

"No you."

"Pants on fire."

"You like my pants."

"I like you even more without them."

"Greg!"

"What?" Greg placed his hands on his hips on the other side of her bed; waiting for her to speak, grin tugging at the corners of his lips. She was going to break, any second. He could feel it. She let out a frustrated groan, and tossed a duffel bag at him.

"Stop picking a second grade fight with me and pack your bag. The plane will leave regardless if we are on it." She let the grin spread over her own lips, she didn't have to look at him to know he was about to suggest they skip the plight to the airport and crawl back into bed. "No, we have to actually attend this one."

"I just simply don't understand why the association holds them, it's like we all don't have places to be, criminals to jail, people to sleep with." Greg tossed the last few items in the bag, and zipped it up. "And why do we specifically have to go?" He was whining, and he knew it, but he didn't care. "Can't they send people from days?" She shot him a tired look, and snatched Greg's chess team hoodie from the bed, and stuffed it in her own duffel bag.

"They always send Eliot Harper and Ella Andrews, but Eliot is away on family leave and Ella is on a hot case." She sighed heavily, and rolled her eyes as he pushed their bags off the bed, and stretched out on his side, laying irresistibly on the comforter, a look on his face that dared her to cuddle up with him, a sparkle in his eye that pleaded her for a few minutes alone together before they had to catch their flight to Kansas.

"Gregory." She lowered her voice to that soothing tone she used when she wanted him.

"Mmmhmm." He turned onto his side, and threw her a lopsided grin that reminded her of the quirky, zany lab rat he used to be, cleverly hidden under the more grown up, deadly serious CSI level one that was currently pleading her to come back to bed, even though she had spent forty minutes trying to halfheartedly get away from his incessant need to cuddle earlier that morning. "Five minutes, Sara." He mumbled into the pillow softly. "Five minutes never hurt anyone."

"The plane, Greg."

"Leaves in four hours, from the airport twenty minutes away. Come be lethargic with me for five minutes." Sara caved in, just like Greg knew she would. She kicked off her shoes, and climbed over to his side. Greg cuddled into her side, slipping an arm around the small of her back, laying his other around her middle. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, where it rested on her shoulder, cradling his shoulders, and tangling her legs into his.

"We should be on the way to the airport."

"We can't do this in the airport."

"Greg, I-"

"I just missed you."

"I was standing three feet away."

"That was too far for me." Sara laughed at him as he rolled on top of her, and pressed his lips gently to hers. Slowly, he pried open her lips, his tongue running along the part in her lips, asking permission, and not waiting for an answer as he deepened his kiss, slow, even pressure turned to frantic kisses, still gentle. Sara's fingers went instinctively to the nape of his neck, and she pushed her hips against his. Greg dropped gentle kisses on the side of her neck, the underside of her jaw, against her throat, vibrating as she laughed, and spoke.

"Is this close enough, Mr. Sanders?" She giggled as she felt him nod against her neck. Greg lay still on top of her, and she smiled with the comfort of his body heat and weight. Her arms encircled his shoulders, and she kissed his temple softly.

"I just wanted to make sure you knew I loved you."

"I got that, thanks."

"Sara Jane, don't be mean."

"I love you too, Gregory."

"That's better."

"Mmmgerroff me, we have a plane to catch." Sara gently pushed at Greg's chest, and he rolled off her, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He reached for his sneakers than had been discarded on the floor, and shot her a grin.

"I love it when you boss me around."

"That's fortunate, because it's my job to boss you around."

"You like it." His tone was jovial, and she rolled her eyes, pulling on her own shoes on the other side of the bed.

"You're crazy."

"Aha! Your boyfriend is a crazy person." Greg lifted his bag over his shoulder, and stood at the door of her bedroom, grinning madly at her. She tried to walk past him, but he caught her in another kiss.

"Greg, the plane."

"What about it."

"We have to get on it."

"Fine, fine." He let her go, and followed her out of the apartment, but beating her to the keys, snatching them from the bowl at the door. "I want to drive."

"Fine, fine." She hoisted her bag over her shoulder, and made her way to his Denali, parked beside her own.

The four-day convention in Wichita had, in it's invitation, requested CSI mentoring pairs, as the main theme of this year's convention concentrate on building a trusting relationship between the teacher and the student. Since Ecklie could not decline sending a pair to Kansas, on grounds that his lab's best mentoring pair had numerous kinds of relationships aside from a trusting one, he was obliged to send Greg and Sara to Wichita for the convention.

That was fine with Sara and Greg. Sara had managed to escape conventions like these since her days in San Francisco and was due, and Greg had never been to a CSI convention, having just been promoted in the last year. This, of course, made Greg act like a small child on a pilgrimage to Chuck E. Cheese, mainly because he had no concept of how boring and useless such events tended to be.

However, complying with Ecklie's request had gotten them three days together, no criminals, no cases, and a hotel room in Kansas. This, of course, also made Greg excited, and he thought that being sent to this convention with Sara was equitable to being given the keys to the mustang and having the hotel room already paid for on prom night. All that workshop bullshit aside, this was going to be like a three-day vacation, and he, for one, was looking forward to the formal dinner on the last night.

Sara had packed _that_ dress.

The dress she'd only worn twice.

The dress that ended up on the floor both times.

The black one.

He _loved_ the black one.

…………

En route to the airport, Sara's fingers had found Greg's, and the ride and the wait at the airport had passed with ease, as well as the wait to board, and the flight. Sara hadn't let go of Greg's hand the whole way, and he was amused at the tinge of pink that arose from her cheeks when they walked to the gate, as he swung their clasped hands childishly between them.

To passersby at the airport, they looked like a happy couple returning home after eloping in Vegas. Greg and Sara both chose to play the part of the happy couple, pocketing their IDs and trying to forget their destination with a pack of cards, two cups of coffee, and a light and friendly banter full of dirty references; at least on Greg's part, anyway.

…………

Twenty-seven minutes into the first session at the convention, Greg found himself making a number of observations. First, Sara's hair was curly, and he decided approximately twelve minutes ago that curly hair was really, really pretty. Second, he decided that he and Sara, as mentor and student, were way better off than the pairs around them, and could probably give the lecture on how to communicate in your "learning partnership." Of course his answer would be just to make sure that you and your mentor never went to bed angry, and that you always allotted enough time for make up sex. Definitely not the solutions they were discussing presently. Lastly, with a quick scan around him, he sensed an obscene amount of tension seething off the other sixty people in the room.

Greg was not listening to the lecturer. He had come to the conclusion that conventions were useless, and that next time Ecklie needed to send Ella and Eliot, they would surely have benefited from this more than he and Sara. He glanced over at her, and let a bemused smile creep over his face, realizing she had stoically fallen asleep beside him, posture attentive, but eyes closed. They were seated further back in the small crowd, but Greg felt that in a room full of professional investigators, at least the ones around them would have noticed the sleeping woman beside him.

Sara's legs were crossed, one thigh draped over the other, in a professional manner. Her foot, however, had hooked itself around his calf. It had, until minutes ago, been seductively lulling him into a daze rhythmically rubbing up and down his calf. He tried stepping on her foot, but she didn't stir. Glancing around, seeing that everyone else was attentively nodding to the points the drone of a lecturer was making, Greg laid his palm gently on Sara's knee, and squeezed gently.

"Sara." She felt a light but intimate pressure on her knee, and opened her eyes suddenly, the conference room in Wichita coming back into focus. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Greg, hand still on her knee, with a smug grin playing at his lips.

"Was not asleep."

"Shh. Pay attention." Greg slipped his hand away from her knee before anyone noticed. Sara turned her head slightly to look him over, keenly feeling the loss of his hand on her knee. She saw him grin as she blew out an exasperated, frustrated, bored to death sigh, and she tried to focus on whatever it was that this ridiculous woman before them was talking about.

Greg smiled to himself. At least he wasn't the one that had fallen asleep, if their roles had been reversed, she wouldn't have ever let him live it down. He had lasted twenty-seven minutes before allowing his mind to wander. That must be a record, because this woman standing before him was painfully dry and useless.

The first day of the convention wasn't terrible, despite Sara occasionally nodding off, and Greg's quest for new and interesting ways to rouse her from her sleep. The second day brought with it a psychiatrist specializing in relationships. It was when the well-intentioned doctor broke out the yoga mats, and Sara and Greg had no choice but to comply with her instructions to sit on the mat facing each other that the two of them lost it, unable to remain on task in any way shape or form.

It was the third day that things got interesting, and Greg decided he really did like conventions.

…………

The third day they spent apart from each other, Greg in one room with a talk about how to be a better student, Sara in another room, with a talk about how to be a better mentor. Greg allowed his mind to wander through about half of his discussion, the level ones around him asking boring, stupid questions, with boring, stupid answers. His thoughts wandered to Sara, who must be getting the same feeling towards her own discussion.

He was brought back to reality with thirty level ones staring expectantly at him, and the mediator of the discussion raising an eyebrow at him.

"Vegas? Care to put your two cents in?" The guy sitting at his right spoke to Greg. Greg turned to him, suddenly growing a large distaste for this loser sleazebag from Detroit, who already thought he was better than Greg, because he had reached level one at 26 and not at 31 like Greg.

"Mr. Sanders, we were discussing the limitations that are put on level ones, and how sometimes these limitations can be hindering to our development as CSIs. Would you please tell us of these limitations in the Las Vegas Crime Lab?" Greg was suddenly grateful the inquiry was lab related.

"Of course. I personally feel that I don't really have all that many limitations in the field, my mentor, Sara, she trusts me 100 to do my job, and if I have any questions or are unsure about anything, I have always felt that I could ask her, she's very approachable. She lets me carry as much of the load as she does, and we are held to the same standard by our boss." The shocked look on the other level ones faces lead Greg to believe that the conversation was really about how the mentors were holding the pupils back. Feeling a soapbox slip under his feet, he continued. "See, though, I'm only couple years younger than my mentor. I have been a level one for only ten months, but I was the senior DNA tech in the Las Vegas Lab for 8 years before my proficiencies started, and she and I have known each other since her arrival at my lab more than six years ago. I actually had seniority over her until I passed my proficiencies. We have an extremely egalitarian relationship. She and I play off of each other's strengths and weaknesses in a manner not unlike a regular CSI partnership." Greg shrugged, and returned Detroit's foot-in-mouth grin with a casual, lopsided one. He turned his attention to the mediator of the discussion.

"We never really played by the books in Vegas. I technically have seniority over my mentor." Greg settled into his seat more comfortably, enjoying the confused looks he was receiving. "She outranks me, of course. Up until ten months ago I was blazing a professional career path through the DNA lab, and at the time that I passed my proficiencies to become a CSI level one, I had taken a pay cut to become a CSI, as I'm sure none of you realize when you treat your lab techs like dirt, techs get paid roughly twice as much a level one." Greg glanced around at the level ones around him, pleased to see the distant expressions on their faces as they thought of the techs in their own labs getting paid way more money than them. "So when I took a huge pay cut to become a CSI, she knew that I was serious. I was wild and childish in the DNA lab, and no one ever took me seriously. Making a drastic change in my professional mannerisms and letting my hair dye grow out proved to her that I genuinely wanted to be a CSI. She knew I was dedicated, and she took me seriously." He saw a few heads nod, and looked at the mediator of the discussion, who signaled for him to continue.

"Perhaps you have a few tips for some of us who are a bit newer to work in a Crime Lab, then, Mr. Sanders." Greg nodded at the mediator.

"Yeah, ok, I have one." At her encouraging smile, Greg started spilling his secrets. "Never go to bed angry. Talk to your mentor, but listen when they respond. Never let your head hit the pillow after a shift with something on your mind. Resolve your differences."

…………

Not fifty yards away, in the next room, Sara was having the same conversation as Greg.

"Is there anything you would like to add, or share with your colleagues, Miss Sidle?" Sara snapped her gaze up to the mediator of the discussion, thirty pairs of eyes looking her way. She had done it again. Dozed off. She really needed to pay attention. Greg wasn't beside her to wake her up.

"Sorry, what?"

"Las Vegas Crime Lab, yes?"

"That's right. We don't actually abide by such rigid guidelines, however."

"Elaborate."

"Well, I seem to be the only mentor CSI in the room that actually trusts my student to do his job."

"But they're green. They don't know what they're doing." The guy next to her, some middle-aged, balding whiner from Detroit, interrupted Sara.

"They passed their proficiencies, didn't they? The only way they will learn is if they do. All we have to do is catch their backs so they won't fall."

"Vegas. That's the number two Lab in the country."

"Yes."

"Alright then." The Detroit guy sat back in his chair, challenging Sara. "How do you guys do it then?" Sara settled into her chair, crossing one leg over the other, getting the green light from the mediator.

"We work together. I recognize my level one's abilities, I know what he can do, I have made myself aware of what he needs to learn. On his behalf, he's a studious, serious, dedicated level one, and after ten months is four cases away from being my professional equal and no longer my student. Not only is he on his way to breaking the Lab record for fastest promotion from level one to level two, he has started catching my mistakes, finding evidence that I and my team missed. On his behalf, he's a brilliant CSI."

"So you've got a kid who's easy to teach."

"He's not a kid, he's only a few years younger than myself. He technically has seniority over me, even though I outrank him. He was the best DNA tech our lab ever had, but he always wanted to be out in the field. When the position opened up, he got a haircut, started matching his clothes, brought all his Manson CD's home, and took a huge pay cut to train to pass his proficiencies. He was lying in wait for the moment to become an investigator. He's been an employee of the Las Vegas Crime Lab for eight years now, which is more than my six." She glanced back at the guy from Detroit, and he seemed to be taking in her words.

"You and your student, then, it seems, already communicate well." Jeez this mediator didn't miss a thing. "Care to share your methods?"

Sara swallowed, suddenly feeling like she had backed herself into a corner. Methods. Yeah. Sleep with your student. Turn evaluation day into a stripping game. Cuddle up to him every night. Listen to him breathe, watch his chest rise and fall. Kiss him awake, kiss him asleep.

"I have a few general rules I go by. Always tell them where you are. Bring them coffee every once in a while." Sara took a deep breath. "And my golden rule is never let anger or discontentment stew. Always address it directly."

"You get results with that touchy feely bullshit?" Sara turned her gaze away from the mediator, towards Mr. Bald Detroit.

"Our shift has the highest solve rate in Vegas, and myself and my student have the highest solve rate on the shift." Sara grinned cheekily. "And the informal education of the best level one I've ever seen. The coffee really helps."

…………

Back in their room, six floors above the function rooms they had spent the day in, Sara flopped onto one of the neatly made beds, curling up on her side, leaving room for Greg. They had an hour and a half to be back down in the lobby for the formal dinner. She watched him as he pulled off his shoes, and unfastened the buttons of his oxford shirt, revealing a Black Sabbath tee shirt underneath. He shed the shirt, and stood against the opposite side of the bed, hands on his hips, weight on one foot, head cocked to the side.

"We only have ninety minutes to relax after the massacre downstairs and get ready for the formal dinner." Greg smiled at her.

"Did you play nice with the other kids?" Sara kicked her shoes off, and pushed them off the bed.

"Absolutely. How was the PTA meeting?" The bed dipped under Greg's weight, and he lay beside her, facing the ceiling, on his back, eyes closed.

"They all moaned about how their students suck."

"I only do that when you do that thing with- oof." He felt her fist playfully come in contact with his arm. "Abuse, woman."

"How was it, seriously?"

"Everyone moaned about being held back. Complained about how their mentors never let them do anything but run samples to the useless lab techs, how they never got their hands on the evidence before their mentors had already processed it."

"What did you say?"

"I told them that the easiest way to get to process the evidence first is to just sleep with their mentor." She sat up and smacked him fully, but the expression of mock horror of her face made a grin spread broadly over his own. "Ouch. Honestly woman. I may look a fool, but you know as well as I that looks are deceiving."

"I had my own brush with spilling our beans in with the other mothers."

"Do tell."

"I only closed my eyes for a moment, and no one woke me up before anyone noticed. The mediator asked me if I had anything to contribute to the discussion, so I told all those overbearing, impatient pains in everyone's asses that there is no reason not to let level ones do anything a level two or three would do."

"It's because I've wooed you into a daze, you're so enamored with me you let me do whatever I want."

"No." She propped herself up on her elbow, facing him, laying an arm on his stomach. "It's because you are well on your way to being a better CSI than any of us." Greg was caught off guard by this odd surfacing of praise, and was contented to roll on top of her, pressing her into the mattress, dropping a slow, tender kiss to her lips.

The soft moan below him told him that he had already caused that whisper of damp in her panties. His chuckle had a low, throaty quality that barreled through her body, settling below her belly. She ran her fingers from his shoulders to his waist, searching out the button of his jeans.

Sara grinned widely as she realized her favorite kind of Greg was hovering above her. The side of Greg no one ever saw at work. The sweet, compassionate, attentive, gentle Greg she only saw every once in a while. She lay on her back against the bedspread, bringing her hands to cup his face as he left a feather light trail of kisses along her law. She felt his fingers fumbling lazily with the buttons of her own shirt, brushing the soft skin of her breasts. He dropped well placed, loving kisses at seemingly random places on her exposed skin, his attention devoted to exploring the plains of her stomach in a painstakingly ritualistic manner that brought a lazy grin to her lips. She loved when he got like this. He treated her as if she was a sacred treasure to be handled with the most delicate of care with his gentle kisses.

In the three months that their relationship had become physical in this manner, Greg had only gone through the motions of this particular form of foreplay twice before. She watched him as he reached the waistband of her pants, and, unfastening the button and tugging the zipper, he folded back the material, and placed a lingering kiss on her hipbone before making his way back to her neck in a slow, leisurely path. She ruffled his hair, letting her fingers remain tangled in his hair at the base of his neck. She tried to remember the circumstances of the other two occasions for this worship she was receiving. That time after the police award ceremony, when Warrick had received an acknowledgement for above and beyond for being the central figure in a huge high profile sting operation, and then again after Thanksgiving at Catherine's house. He had slipped her out of that black dress expertly, not even wrinkling it- oh. Greg had made his way back to her neck, and nibbled gently on her ear. She rolled him off her, and sat up abruptly.

"I'm on to you Sanders."

"What?" He boyishly squinted up at her, completely confused. She straddled him, and he pulled her body to him without question or inquiry. "I wasn't up to anything, Sidle. I have no hidden agenda." She pressed a kiss to his lips, and he accepted it, propping his head up with a pillow.

"No I get it now."

"What in the world are you on about?" His brow crinkled in confusion, but an amused smile played at his lips.

"You only do that when I wear the dress." She smiled back confidently, arching a brow at him. He grinned in realization.

"I love that dress."

"I haven't worn it yet."

"Yeah but by the time you bothered to put it on we would have to be downstairs for dinner."

"So that there was what, exactly?"

"That was me promising you that you would have help taking that dress off tonight." He flashed her a suggestive smile, and rolled her off of him, climbing off the bed, and standing on his feet. "Shower?" He laughed as she finished shedding her clothes, and followed him into the bathroom, letting her hair fall around her shoulders.

They were only fifteen minutes late for dinner downstairs.

………

Greg flashed his mentor a lopsided grin as the elevator doors closed and they began their dissent to the ground floor for the dinner.

"We're late."

"Psst. Only a few minutes."

"Fifteen minutes, Greg." He retreated at her halfway irritated tone, leaning against the wall, shoving his hands in his pockets, inwardly enjoying that little black dress. He loved how it only casually embraced her curves, leaving a hefty amount to the imagination, not that he needed it anyway, but showed just enough skin to contrast her pale complexion with the dark black fabric. The soft swell of her chest was held in a sophisticated manner that brought a smile to his lips. His eyes wandered lower, to the hemline of the skirt. It flared just right, falling in soft waves around her calves, and silently swirled around her when she moved. The shoes she wore hurt her feet something terrible, but as far a Greg was concerned, nothing was sexier than a girl in a little black dress with little black heels. _His_ girl.

"Don't look at me like that, Greg." He watched the hem of the skirt swivel around her legs as she turned to face him, and the doors opened. "We have to behave." He followed her out of the elevator, quickly catching up to walk beside her.

"Then you shouldn't have brought that dress." He whispered in her ear, pleased at the pink tinge in her cheeks.

"I like this dress."

"So do I. That's the trouble with it, isn't it?" He grinned cheekily at her and opened the door to the function room for her. He could make it. He was, after all, a fairly patient man. He had waited six years to kiss her, hadn't he? He could last an hour, hour and a half. Greg settled with touching the small of Sara's back, following her to a pair of seats empty at one of the tables where between the two plates there was a card that read "Las Vegas." He was glad to see they weren't the only ones late, as a few empty seats were being taken, and people were still filtering in through the doors.

"Vegas." Greg turned away from Sara, and smiled, taking the extended hand of the middle aged man beside him and shaking it. "I've heard all about you people. Tony Somerville, Philadelphia."

"Greg Sanders."

"We've heard about your lab out on the east coast."

"Yeah? Good things I hope."

"You guys have an amazing entomologist. Went to his last seminar in New York a few months back. Guy's a genius." Greg nodded, accepting the praise of Grissom's behalf. Tony's eyes set on Sara, who was talking to the mentor from San Fransisco, whom he vaguely remembered as a level one when he interned in their crime lab as an undergrad, but whom Sara seemed to know much better, from her years there after he had graduated. "Your mentor had some good things to say about you this afternoon."

"Yeah she said."

"It always amazes me when such pretty women are drawn to forensics."

"Looks are deceiving. She holds a Magna Cum Laude from Harvard in Physics. She's as much of a science geek as the rest of us." Greg leaned forward, blocking the view of Sara's curves from Mr. Philadelphia's eyesight. "So what's your specialty?"

………

Twenty minutes later, the coordinator of the convention was wrapping up a speech about the hope of learning partnerships and other such nonsense, that had followed a welcome by the director of the Wichita Crime Lab. Greg had laid his arm across the back of Sara's chair, turning slightly to pay polite attention to the formalities. He was content to sit back and pick at his food, occasionally stealing something from Sara's plate when she casually reached over and stabbed his broccoli, one by one. He was sure that this was somewhat less than professional, but this was the routine that he and Sara had fallen into years ago, and he had trouble remembering that they were at a convention with people who didn't know them.

Tony from Philly had tried to catch her into a conversation about mentoring, which he was sure would result in a pick up line. Greg sat politely at dinner, minding his own business, participating in conversation when talked to. What kept him somewhat more quiet than usual was the familiar foot that had snaked its way up the bottom of his pantleg, and was curling around his calf.

Sara had turned to Greg after politely deflecting Mr. Philly's after hours invite, taking a sip from her glass, settling against the back of the chair. He turned to her, and flashed her a grin.

"What?"

"What nothing."

"You're looking at me like that."

"Like what? I'm not looking at you like anything." A smile turned the corner of her mouth as he leaned in a few inches closer.

"I said I would behave." His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper.

"You're good on your word."

"You aren't."

"You failed to specify that I needed to be." She flashed him a grin, and set her glass down on the table. Greg rolled his eyes, slipping his arm away from the back of her chair. Women. She was going to be the death of them. Of him, especially.

"So, Vegas, how is it working with that wicked smaht bug guy?" Greg focused his attention on the question from the Boston level one, a quick witted blonde across the table. He grinned at Sara, asking permission with a look, and then proceeded to have the entire table in stitches with humorous anecdotes from his days in the lab, about Grissom.

The rest of the dinner passed quickly after that, and soon he was picking bites from Sara's dessert, as Sara talked about their most recent all nighter with a pig carcass, a topic that would have grossed out anyone but a CSI. Long after the dished had been cleared and the coffee had been finished, Sara and Greg bid their goodbyes, and made their way to the elevator.

Sara pressed the button, and wandered a few feet away, as Greg leaned against the wall near to elevator door. He was mesmorized by the gentle flow of her skirt, and was content to watch it.

"You're a wicked woman, Sidle." Greg shoved his hands in his pockets, watching his girlfriend smile innocently at him.

"Get in the elevator, Sanders."

The surveillance tape from the elevator would show nothing out of the ordinary, just a single kiss from a wavy haired, lanky man to his curly haired companion in one very sexy black dress.

Greg grinned boyishly as he felt Sara's hand slip into his own as they closed the distance to the hotel room door. He dug into his pocket, and handed her the card, which she swiped, and pushed the door open silently. He followed her in, shrugging off his jacket and kicking off his converses as she tossed her heels into her duffel bag, and ran a hand through her hair. He silently unclasped her necklace for her, and pulled off his socks, coming to stand in front of her so that his bare toes were inches from hers.

Her arms slid around his waist gently, pulled his body flush with hers. He dipped his head and captured her lips with his own, laying a palm to her cheek to hold her against him. He felt her fingers along the small of his back, and settled his other palm against the nape of her neck, while his tongue asked permission for entrance. Her fingers had found their way to the front of his trousers, and were fumbling with the buckle of his belt lazily. He smiled against her kisses, and pulled away just enough to touch his forehead to hers.

"Let's dance." His whisper had caught her off guard, and she pulled back, eyebrow arched.

"What?" He cocked his head to the side, grinning at her.

"You know, dance." He snaked an arm around her waist, and took her left hand with his right. Sara pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, and draped her free arm around his shoulders. He pulled her hips against his own, and soon they were swaying to the silence of their darkened hotel room. He led her casually through a handful of twirls, always pulling her back flush against his body.

"There's no music, Gregory." Sara whispered after a few minutes, from against his chest. His soft chuckle resonated through her body, settling in a warm familiar heat below her belly.

"It's ok to pretend, Sara, even if you are an adult." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"I can sing if you want." He offered after a few more moments. It was her laughter, that ran through his body like a phenomena something akin to being electrified, this time. She stood on the balls of her feet, and caught him in a searing kiss. As her fingers found the soft hair of the back of his neck, his fingers found the zipper to her dress, and for the third time, he managed to remove it and dispose of it on the floor, without wrinkling it.

Her fingers found the tie that he had loosened when they had stepped into the elevator earlier. She made quick work of the offending article of clothing from beneath his weight, and flung it across the room, watching it land on the floor, atop her little black dress. He sat up, straddling her, and began to unbutton the front of his shirt.

"I never wrinkle your fancy dress up clothes, Sara." She smiled at the hint of childish whining in his voice.

"Black ties are better on the floor, Gregory."


	8. Chapter 8

Sara was on her way home after pulling a triple, thanks to a homicide case that kept turning out more and more bodies, when Catherine was coming in, photos from the swing shift and graveyard shift's latest gathering in hand.

"Hey. Hold on a sec." Catherine flipped through the packet, and pulled out a photograph, handing it to Sara. "Nick is a magician with a camera, huh?" Sara accepted the snapshot, pulling her arms through her jacket. She smiled as she recognized the image.

"Yeah. He minored in photography in college. Obviously got A's."

"Thought you might want that one." Catherine let the smile creep over her face. "He's good for you. You look happy." Sara drew her gaze from the photograph, and smiled at her coworker.

"I am. We are." Sara grinned widely. "Thank you for this." She tucked the photo into her bag, and shut her locker. "I'm out, this is my fourth triple shift this week." She stopped at the door to the hallway. "Give Nick my thanks when he comes in." Catherine nodded absently, and made her way to the break room to hang up the rest of the roll on the wall.

………

Sara made her way into her apartment, hanging up her coat, leaving her bag on the coffee table while she showered and changed into a pair of Greg's boxers and Greg's chess team sweatshirt from college. The soft cotton of the hem and cuffs were worn and frayed, softly tickling her skin. She flopped onto the couch, folding her legs beneath her, and leaning over to pull an ordinary, 4x6 frame from the drugstore plastic bag. She dug into her workbag, retrieving the photograph from the pocket.

She felt ridiculous at first, this ritual every time one of them came across a photograph of them together. Now, however, with their makeshift mantle full of mostly Nick's camera work, she treasured the moments when she was able to add to their collection, but they fell second to the moments captured on the film.

Nick, lately, had been on a black and white kick, and the image in her hand was no exception to his latest trend. She slipped the photo into the frame, and set it on the coffee table to admire her work. Greg was going to think she was crazy. She had never cared about relics of this sort in her relationship with Hank, and she had no photographs of her college boyfriends either. Greg was a different sort of boyfriend though; and this was a different sort of love.

The new photo in the plain black frame had been taken a few weeks ago; when both shifts, plus Brass and Sofia, had met for breakfast after the foil of an all hands on deck case involving one of the city councilmen and his mistress. The image was of Sara and Greg, sitting at the counter at their favorite diner, kitty cornered from the camera, Warrick leaned over on Sara's side, caught in avid discussion with Sofia, who was laughing on the other side of Greg. In the center, however, pulled into shaper focus than Warrick of Sofia was Sara and Greg. Greg had his arm thrown casually around her shoulders; she had leaned over him to reach the sugar for her coffee. His other hand, she remembered, had pulled her leg into his lap, but the camera hadn't captured that thanks to the counter. His eyes were downcast, inwardly focused on her body. Her forehead touched his jaw line, and the expression on her face made her grin widely.

Nick had caught the busy movement of the diner, but had made a still life out of her and Greg. She was glad he had a rich background in photography; most of the photos on their shelf were from his camera. He had a way of making their relationship feel real, committed. Nick's photographs were tangible evidence that they were happy together, and as a scientist, these photographs put her at ease. In the last two months since what they referred to as their first date, Nick had started to give either of them assortments of images he snapped here and there.

It had started when Catherine had mentioned as they processed evidence from a crime scene of a missing child, where the mother had no recent photos of her daughter to give Brass, that she didn't have any photographs of Lindsey that were up to date. Nick had just casually stated that he used to study photography in college, and used to take portraits of school children to pay for books. Catherine had flashed a grin his way, and he agreed to take a few pictures of Lindsey to ease her 65 hours a week overworked single mother mind.

When the photographs were developed, however, Catherine had gotten misty, and kissed Nick, they were so beautiful. Nick could have easily been a professional photographer, the kind that had fancy galleries and shows, and whose work often ended up in museums years after they died. With the rest of the team's encouragement, Nick had picked up his old camera again, and had recently bought a newer model, which had become an appendage to his person when not at work. Photographs went up on the wall and on the fridge of the break room in the following weeks, as Nick rediscovered his second love in life, after science.

Sara glanced up at their 'mantle,' smiling at the assortment of photos that were in color, and black and white, some artistically developed, some professionally processed like their newest edition. The story of their romance had been played out right before Nick's lens, and she was suddenly thankful that he had such a talent.

She heard Greg's keys in the lock of her door, and watched as it swung open, and he entered the tiny apartment.

"Hey." He grinned at her, setting his jacket and bag down beside hers.

"Hi. How did it go?" Greg had spent the last few hours at court with Grissom, presenting evidence in his first case to a jury.

"Good. Perp got 25 to life, based on our presentation of the evidence. Thank God for Gris, though, I was way nervous." He loosened his tie, and unbuttoned the collar of his oxford shirt to reveal the Grateful Dead concert tee shirt underneath. He dropped a kiss on her waiting lips, and flopped down on the couch beside her, kicking off his shoes. "That's a good one, huh?" He nodded toward the new photo in Sara's hands.

"Yeah, Catherine picked up the roll on her way in to work." She handed Greg the frame, and watched him, as he looked closer at the image. He broke into a grin, chuckling to himself.

"What?" She leaned in, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him. "What's funny?"

"I remember what we did after this."

"Mind in the gutter."

"Sorry, blame the XY."

"I," She snatched the photo out of his hands, and stood. "Happen to like your Y chromosome, Gregory." She placed the frame towards the end of the haphazardly assembled row of photographs.

"Well I like your whole double helix, Sara Jane."

"Yeah that'll make me hot." She turned back to the couch, and Greg had sprawled out, taking up the whole of the couch with his long legs.

"Has before." He let out a yawn, and curled up to the throw pillow. "Come cuddle with me." He whined, like a small child asking to be picked up. She smiled at him, and crossed the room back to the couch. He tossed the pillow on the floor, and slid his arms around her waist and under her legs, using her thigh as a pillow. She felt him relax as her fingers found the nape of his neck, twirling in the waves of hair. After a few moments she spoke.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah, just missed you today."

"I missed you too." She leaned against the armrest of the couch, small smile curving her lip as he snuggled closer to her, his fingers resting on her hips. "We're going to need another mantle soon."

"Mmhmm." His affirmative tumbled through her thigh, settling heat in the center of her pelvis. "Nick is nuts with that camera these days." His breath was warm on her hip, through the thin fabric of the old boxers she wore. "It's nice though, every time I look at those pictures, they tell our story."

"We look happy."

"We are." Greg sat up, and pressed his lips to hers slowly and lightly.

"Tell me our story, Gregory." He grinned at her like a child, and climbed roughly off her lap. She pulled the throw blanket over her bare legs, and turned her attention toward her boyfriend, who looked even sexier with his hair rumpled, still in his suit, minus the jacket. He stood in front of the shelf, hand on his hip. He fluttered his fingers above a few of the frames, and picked one up, on the other side of the shelf from the newest photo.

"This one is probably my favorite. Nick took this right after he shot all those photos of Lindsey, just to finish the roll." He held up one of the first frames they had put on that shelf, depicting him and Sara seated at opposite ends of the interrogation table, notes from a case spread out in front of them. It was, unbeknownst to Nick, the interrogation after Greg had kissed her in the layout room for the first time, and he had caught them in a moment where they were looking at each other, perhaps discussing their arrest, he couldn't remember. "This was right after I kissed you, and right before we came back here and did," he paused for dramatic affect, continuing in a stage whisper, "unspeakable things." She grinned widely, and snuggled into his old sweatshirt. "Of which, I am glad that there are no photos of, by the way." He set down the photo, taken from the other side of the two-way mirror, and stood on his tiptoes to make his next selection.

"This one here," He plucked out one of Nick's crazy artistically developed ones, that he had created while fooling around with the dark room and exposure times. Nick had captured them walking hand in hand down the street from the diner, and had done something to the paper to create darker, thicker outlines. "I just like it, really, Nick went crazy with the dark room, but he made the lab and the diner and the street and Las Vegas fall away, and all that's left is me and you, and that's how it should be. Just us." He placed it back on the shelf and moved down a few inches, deciding on his next pick.

"Hrmm. Oh! This one." He picked up a color photo; one developed at a one-hour lab, and held it out. In it Sara was sitting on the stonewall enclosing one of the fountains downtown, Greg was standing a ways away in front of her, hands on his hips, smirking at her. Strangers were walking all around them, but neither of them saw anything but the other person.

Sara cocked an eyebrow at Greg, prompting him to explain his choice. "Can't you see it?" He looked at her like she had just sprouted wings. "Look closer." He brought the frame to her, and she peered at the image, taken about six weeks ago. This was one they had asked Nick to take. She looked up at Greg, still no idea why he favored this photo. He sighed impatiently at her, and rolled his eyes. "When I see you, the world stops spinning, and everything else is a blur. Like the strangers on the street. I can't see them, I can only see you."

She felt the tears well up in her eyes, and quickly dabbed at them with the cuff of his sweatshirt. He chuckled, fully amused, and bent to kiss her.

"You're a sap, Sara Jane."

"You're the sap, Gregory." He turned and placed the frame back on the shelf, rubbing his hands together, scanning the photos for his next selection.

"You love me for it."

"Yeah ok."

"I'm more than just a tempting Y chromosome, love. I have feelings." She laughed, and he grinned at her. "Laughing at your beloved is never nice, Sara."

"Making your girlfriend cry is never nice either, loser." He feigned emotional hurt, and shot her puppy eyes.

"Names!"

"Psst. Sticks and stones." She countered, dismissing his theatrics.

"Fine, fine, fine. One more." He spun, and stepped back, considering his choices carefully. "Oh, going to have to go with Nick's sneaky voyeurism." He picked off the shelf, from the back, up against the wall. It was a gorgeous shot of the locker room, with the early morning sunlight filtering through the windows near the ceiling, casting a block of sunshine on Greg, sitting on the bench in the middle of the row of lockers, and Sara straddling his lap, resting her forehead against his. Both were still clad in their vests, having just wrapped a difficult case. The two of them were silhouetted against the early morning Nevada sunshine, taking a moment for them to regroup before, as she remembered it, going to Greg's apartment and falling asleep almost immediately.

"I forgot about that one." She laid her head on the armrest and held her hand out to Greg, who smiled at her, and placed the frame back in it's hidden spot, and walked across the room to her, taking her hand in his. He gently nudged her over, and sat on the couch, laying her head in his lap. She lounged across his knees, and felt her eyelids droop as he ran his fingers through her hair in soft, gently rhythmic strokes.

"What I love about the locker room photo is that it makes you look like an angel." She felt him laugh to himself. "I know that's corny, but the sunshine makes you look so beautiful, and I'm just so glad that you picked me." She pressed a kiss to his thigh before sitting up and facing him.

"I love you." She smiled earnestly. "You know that, right?" She tilted her head, tangling her fingers in his, in her lap.

"Yeah I know that. Je t'aime toujours." He leaned in, and she pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "Do you like our story, Sara?" He glanced toward their 'mantle,' grinning. "I think it's romantic."

"It suits us just fine." She lay back on the couch, pulling Greg on top of her. Her fingers fell to the buttons down the front of his shirt. "Thank you." A confused expression came over his face, as he settled in with her legs around him, leaning over her.

"For what?"

"For picking me, for letting me love you, for making me laugh." He pressed a kiss to her jaw line, and she giggled as his five o'clock shadow scratched against her skin. "For never letting me sleep alone, for making me breakfast on my birthday, for making me live when I thought I had missed my chance."

"Woman, Grissom is a smart man, a genius even. But nobody's perfect, and for that, I'm thankful." He pressed his lips to hers roughly and possessively for a moment before pulling away, and climbing off her. "Let's make some food, I'm hungry." She groaned, but followed him into the kitchen as he found the pancake batter. "Get the milk, will you?"

She retrieved the milk from the fridge, setting it on the counter for Greg before hopping up and sitting on an empty space. She leaned back on the hanging cabinets, content to observe him start mixing batter in a bowl. He tossed her a boyish grin, and dumped some of the milk into the batter.

"What?" He studied her for a moment. "You've got that look about you like I've accidentally mishandled evidence again." Sara cracked a smile, hugging her knees to her chest on the counter.

"No, I was just thinking, is all."

"Bout what?"

"That you are going to get your nice clothes all messy, and I'm not in the mood to do laundry." He grinned at her, and shed his dress pants and oxford shirt in one fluid motion, leaving him standing in her kitchen in a worn Grateful Dead tee shirt and navy boxers.

"Better?" He turned back to the bowl and jabbed at the clumps in the batter with a wooden spoon.

"You are something else, Gregory."

"And you are something special, Sara Jane."


	9. Chapter 9

Greg Sanders poured over the microscope in his old lab, pausing briefly to take in a sip of the fragrant coffee at his elbow. He leaned in, and carefully turned and twisted the knobs to bring a blood sample from Nick's case into focus more clearly. Without conscious thought, he pressed the codes for the processing that the rest of the sample was to receive. His eyes focused on the hemoglobin platelets, but his other senses noticed Sara as soon as she rounded the corner from the garage. A smile tugged at his lips, and it turned to a grin as she entered, and came to stand beside him.

"And just when I thought this room couldn't get any brighter." He raised his eyes to meet her gaze, and accepted the chaste kiss she dropped on his lips.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Sanders." She smiled, and laid an evidence bag holding numerous sample containers on his desk.

"I tend to go with the tried and true." He raised his mug to his lips. "Tell me this isn't my Christmas present, love."

"No, these would be all the blood samples from that homicide at the Tangiers. Gris and I have it figured, just waiting on you, sunshine."

"Plain hits? What, no comparisons?"

"We just need an ID." He groaned dramatically.

"Sara, honey, if I'm going to be stuck in this time warp, you can't even give me something fun?" She broke into a smile, as the DNA machine beeped. Greg spun in his swivel seat to face the other monitor. "I think I have a hit for Nick. Hold on a sec, love." Greg's fingers danced across the keyboard, as his eyes darted from the printouts to the monitor, back to the print outs, and over to the microscope, and back to the monitor. Instantly, a side-by-side comparison of DNA samples came up. Sara watched with amusement as Greg went about processing Nick's data a few steps further than he was required in a swift, fluid motion. He picked up the receiver of the desk phone, dialed a number without looking, waited for it to ring once, and hung it up. He swiveled in his seat back to face her, chuckling.

"What's so funny, Greggo?"

"I forgot how much fun this chair is." He flashed her a wide grin. "I'll get right on this for you. You have the guy in custody?"

"Yeah. Just need confirmation." He leaned in, and met her lips with his.

"Yeah, yeah, get out of here so I can do this shitty job I hate." She tossed him a grin and turned to leave.

Nick came tumbling into the lab, rushing over to Greg's area.

"Nick." Greg gathered the papers he had compiled and organized, and handed them over. "I finished up the comparisons for you, and printed out the compiled results." Nick took the stack of papers from Greg, and glanced at the results. Then stared at them again. Long and hard.

"Greg."

"Mmm." Greg had already moved on to Sara's bag of blood, and was entering the label data into the computer. His fingers had resumed their dance, and he was opening a package of sterile droppers. "Was there something you needed?"

"This is amazing, Greg."

"Don't go spreading it around, I want to be back out in the field as soon as Mia pops out the kid and Hodges' sister recovers." Nick tore his eyes from the results.

"Thanks, Greg. I owe you." Greg nodded absentmindedly, as his fingers fell on a yellow post it note. Nick practically ran out of the lab and down the corridor to find Catherine. As he pulled the post it out of the bag, he recognized Sara's even, slender scrawl, and the message brought a smile to his face. He carefully lifted the post it from the blood sample swab, and placed it on the frame of the monitor on his main computer.

"God I love working here." Greg smiled to himself, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves, and setting to work on Sara's blood samples.

Greg arrived home at his apartment 14 hours after his shift was officially over. He tossed his keys in the bowl on the table, dropped his bag, and shed his jacket. He reached into the pocket and took out the velvet box that had made it's home there for months now. He knew that nestled inside the tiny box was a simple, delicate band holding a tiny sparkling diamond.

"Easier said than done, I guess." Greg turned it over in his hand.

A grin spread across his lips every time he opened the box, and now was no exception. He had had this particular piece of jewelry in his jacket pocket since he had decided to ask Sara to marry him. However, he had had the ring in his dresser drawer since he was nineteen, since his grandmother had passed away and his Papa Olaf had given it to him, for "that girl that will love you the way I loved your Grandma Elsa." It was all he had left of either of them, and there was no other place he wanted it than on Sara's left hand.

Greg wiped a tear that he hadn't realized had fallen down his cheek. Difficult indeed. Suddenly he felt as if he couldn't breathe. He inhaled slowly, and let out the air, feeling his pulse return to normal. He shook his head, scolding himself for being so worried about her. It was just Sara, what was he concerned about.

Sara, who let him drag her through puddles in the rain, Sara who held on to him tightly when he lifted her off the ground. Sara who had, just yesterday, curled up with him on this very couch and watched a stupid movie, just because. Sara, who had writhed under him later that evening, softly moaning his name, crumpling his sheets. Sara who had become so content in everyday life, breaking out of her shell, Sara, who had let him play Gorbachev to the Berlin Wall around her heart.

Would she really say yes? Was he out of line? Was he crazy? Greg sighed loudly and sat back. There was only one thing to do. He dropped to his hands and knees, and fished an arm blindly under the couch. He made a triumphant groan as his fingers hit their target. He pulled out his beloved magic eight ball, and sat back on the couch, shaking it profusely. He slammed it down on his coffee table, and waited for the bubbles to settle. When he peered over the top to see the message, it read:

A SURE

BET

Greg grinned to himself and stashed the box back in his jacket pocket. It was only then that he realized that Sara's coat was hanging on the coat rack, and her purse was on the other end of the couch. She had come here after she wrapped her case, and here he was, fooling around with the ring when she was in the next room, and he had no plan.

"Talk about a close call."

"What about a call?" Sara emerged from Greg's bedroom, trying in vain to wipe the sleep from her eyes. "Are you just getting in?" Greg closed the distance between them quickly, and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Yeah, Grissom kept me a might longer than I thought."

"No kidding. I got out hours ago." She tossed her hair into a ponytail and wrapped her arms suggestively around his waist. "I would say I stripped myself of the offending clothing I wore at work and waited in bed for you with candles and a bottle of champagne, but really I raided your closet and fell asleep." He grinned lopsided at her and bent to kiss her, long and deliberately. His fingers ran gently up and down her back, and found their way under the loose Rolling Stones tee shirt she was wearing.

It was when she let out a soft moan that his knees buckled, and any thought of a shower or a dinner was forgotten as he guided her to his bedroom, never leaving her delicate lips unattended.

Greg backed Sara up against the foot of the bed, and toppled her over, landing on top of her. He wedged a knee between her thighs, and pressed her into the mattress. He grinned stupidly, drugged with her squirming body and intoxicated with the taste of her lips. She tangled her legs in his and around his waist, and flipped him over in one fluid, practiced motion. She moved to straddle him, and he wrapped his arms around her body tightly. He groaned as she trailed kisses down the nape of his neck.

"I'm going to marry you, Sara Jane." He heard her soft chuckle, and it vibrated through his body, settling below his waist.

"If you say so, Gregory."

It wasn't until several hours later, with Sara snuggled against his chest, wrapped into his arms, that Greg developed a plan, and tomorrow he would put it into motion. He pressed a soft kiss to his girlfriend's temple, careful not to wake her or disturb her sleeping form. He pulled her body closer to his, and let sleep take him.

………

Greg identified the blearing, obnoxious noise of the alarm clock on the side of the bed. He reached over Sara, and slapped the snooze button. Even through the offensive noise and the sunset outside, Greg turned his attentions to the sleeping woman next to him, and pressed slow, sensual kisses to her neck and down her shoulders.

"Mmmpht." Sara moaned. "Greg, I don't want to get up yet."

"Sorry, love." He grinned. "We have time enough for a shower before shift." He started pressing childish kisses to her skin, and she groaned.

"Gerroff me, Sanders." He dropped one last kiss on her shoulder and rolled over to his side of the bed, making his way to the door. When he turned back, Greg witnessed Sara climbing out of the covers and felt around on his side of the bed. "Wait, where did you go?" She squinted. "Greg, come back to bed."

"Better get a move on Sara, today is going to be a beautiful, beautiful day." He tossed his tee shirt off his frame and dropped it in the hallway as he shut the bathroom door and turned on the shower.

Sara already had a bagel toasted and lathered in cream cheese, and had a steaming hot cup of coffee ready for him when he entered the tiny kitchen, now dressed in jeans and a dark long sleeve shirt. She handed him the mug and slid the bagel towards him.

"Thanks."

"You didn't eat anything last night, I felt bad." She sat across from him, her own mug raised to her lips. Greg began to sweat. He could do it now. Just ask her. All they were doing was drinking coffee. He quickly took a bite of the bagel. "What?" She eyed him suspiciously.

"Nothing, I was just thinking. We never sit like this. It's kind of nice. You know, just to sit." Greg glanced nervously at Sara, but she seemed not to notice how uncomfortable he had made himself, obsessing about the ring in the other room, and the question that wouldn't leave his head.

"You sure you're ok?" Sara drained the rest of her coffee and set the mug in the sink, turning to rest her hips against the countertop. "You seem quiet." He took one last sip of the orgasmic blue Hawaiian.

"Just tired." She nodded, not really believing him, and kissed the top of his head as she made her way to the bedroom to get dressed for work. Greg sighed heavily. This was going to be a long shift. He better work on his poker face fast or she was going to ruin her own surprise.

The drive to work was relatively quiet, Greg left the radio on the station that she had it on the previous day, he grumbled half heartedly about having to be in the lab for the next three weeks, she grumbled about having to be in the field without him in return.

They were still a few minutes out from the lab when Sara reached over into his lap and entwined her fingers in his. He squeezed them and raised them to his lips as they stopped at a red light. He could do it. Just ask her. Ask her now. She won't say no, Greg, she loves you. Just as he decided to reach into his pocket to retrieve the box, the light turned green. He released her hand to pull out and take the left, and Sara's fingers settled on his upper thigh.

"What's bothering you, Greg?" He flashed her a wide grin, and shook his head.

"Just the prospects of spending the whole of my shift at that wretched lab with Bobby instead of out and about with you." The smile that he received settled his nerves a bit, and he bent over the console to capture her lips with his own just as he tossed the Denali into park outside the lab. "Sara?" Greg's voice sounded suddenly like a little boy's. She turned back to him from the door, hand still on the handle.

"Yes."

"Do you love me?" Sara let go of the handle, and sat back in the seat. She cast her gaze down, and took several breaths. "Sara?" Greg panicked. "I knew it, this is all so stupid. I mean I actually thought that we had something that was lasting, you know, but if you don't want to take this seriously, then its ok with me, I mean, whatever you want, I love you, and I will love you forever, and if you don't feel the same, then I guess my wasted heart will love you till the day I die, but it's ok, really, I mean, we haven't been together all that long, really. I just thought-"

"Greg." He looked at her, his heart literally on his sleeve, love and defeat written all over his face.

"I just want to be sure you are happy." He whispered. "That's more important to me than anything." Sara reached across the console and dug her fingers into his hair, and pulled his lips to her own.

"I am happy, Greg, and I am happy because of you. Of course I love you. I can't believe that you thought you had to ask." She returned his grin, finding his smile infectious, and climbed out of the Denali. Greg pulled the keys out of the ignition, ready to start a new shift. Today, he thought, today was going to be a really, really good day.

Unfortunately, Nick and Catherine had a case hotter than Hades, and he was delayed at the lab. Even after he suggested Sara get a lift to her apartment with Warrick, he wasn't able to get away from the lab for another few hours. There was bad timing, then there was the bad timing of lab work. Damn Grissom for sending him back to the lab rat stint for these few weeks. However, soon was the hour of putting the plan into action.

Once home, Sara Sidle dropped her purse on the coffee table as she entered her apartment. She shed her jacket with ease, dropping it over the arm of the couch. She sighed heavily as she glanced at the answering machine, and smiled when she saw the red light blink, indicating one message. She hit the play button, and instantly Greg's voice filled the room.

"Hey. I'm going to be a little bit longer than I thought; Nick and Catherine have an obscene amount of samples to be processed. Eat dinner without me. I'll be there later. I have to stop at my place quick. Je t'aime avec tout mon coeur. I'll see you later." Sara chuckled to herself as Greg lapsed into French, and back into English. He must not have been alone in whatever room he had called her from. She kicked off her shoes.

"I love you too, loser." She told the answering machine. She was looking forward to her night off, and she was starting with the cold veggie pizza in the fridge and one of Greg's mindless movies in the cabinet.

The next thing she knew, she had woken with a start, and it was dark in the apartment. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she climbed off the couch and headed towards the bathroom for a hot shower before Greg returned from work, stripping off one layer of clothing at a time. She twisted the faucet knobs, and was met with a warm spray that became hotter in moments. Sara closed her eyes, and let the water run all over her face, down her shoulders, and over the rest of her body.

Greg turned his key to Sara's apartment, slowly opening the door. He heard her before he saw her, singing behind the closed door of the bathroom, her sultry voice, uninhibited, mixing with the sound of running water. He glanced around the living room, saw the half eaten slice of cold pizza on a plate on the coffee table, and the throw blanket rumpled. She had shed her clothing on the way to the bathroom, leaving it in a trail, which seemed to beckon him to follow it to her. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. He quietly shut the door, and set down his duffle bag. He shrugged off his leather jacket, kicked off his shoes. He pulled the velvet box out of his jeans pocket, and opened it. Grinning at the sight of the tiny sparkling diamond set in the gold band, he plucked it out, and strung it on a simple gold chain, clasping it around his neck.

This was going to be good.

Very good.

He dropped his belt beside her shirt, and tossed his socks near her pants. Greg silently opened the bathroom door.

"Hey."

"Hi, I'll be but a minute. How is Nick and Catherine's case coming?"

"Fine. They are closing it now." He opened the shower door, and walked into the warm spray.

"Greg! You're getting your clothes all wet." He spun her and pressed his lips against hers as she leaned into his embrace seductively. "Or we could just take them off." He laughed against her lips and nodded. He pulled her closer as she swiftly rid him of his tee shirt. He kissed down her jaw line, waiting with the anticipation of a small child at Christmas morning for her to notice the delicate chain and the ring strung through it. He chuckled against her skin as he slipped his hands down her hips, and around her waist. Her fingers were at his jeans' button, already soaking wet, when she froze.

"Greg."

"Mmmm." He smiled to himself and continued to press light kisses up her collarbone, and in the crook of her neck.

"Greg." She pushed him away by a few inches, and he broke out into a full on grin when he saw that her eyes had found the ring, hanging from around his neck. They stood like that; hips pressed together, faces inches apart, water beating down on Sara's back, for what was actually only a few moments, but what seemed like several long, rainy days to Greg.

"I kinda had something on my mind these days-"

"Gregory."

"Sara Jane." He grinned at her like a fool, raising a dripping hand to her dripping cheek, turning her face towards him, meeting her eyes with his. "Will you marry me?"

Greg received the answer he had hoped and prayed for months as Sara captured his lips with her own, and pressed him up against the tile wall. He broke away, and held her face in his hands, the water turning cooler.

"Please?"

"Absolutely." She reached up and pushed his scraggly hair out of his face. Mischief sparkled in his eyes, and chestnut irises burned to a deep chocolate with desire. In one swift movement Greg had spun her around in the shower stall, pinned her against the tiles, and lifted her to rest on his hips. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, and buried her hands in his dripping hair.

Greg groaned loudly as the forgotten water shooting from the showerhead turned icy cold as the hot water ran out. He reached behind him and threw open the stall door, as Sara untangled herself and shut off the valve to stop the offending water. He grabbed a towel off the rack and tossed it on the toilet cover, draping another one around Sara's dripping body.

Greg sat on the toilet cover, pulling Sara down onto his lap. She straddled him, dropping a tender kiss on his lips, and ruffled his hair into gentle spikes. She draped her arms around his shoulders, and planted another kiss in his hair.

"Greg." Sara tilted her head to see his eyes. Greg met her gaze, and choked out a laugh. "What's so funny?"

"I, uh, I forgot to, um, well, I forgot the part where I give you the ring." He ducked his head, removing the delicate chain from his neck. His fingers closed over the diamond. He took her left hand, and pressed a kiss in its palm, and slipped the ring onto her finger. When he returned his gaze to her face, he saw tears streaming from her eyes. As she blinked them away, a single tear fell from her cheek to his hands that held both of hers.

"What?" Sara smiled as Greg started to laugh all over again. Her questioning just made him laugh harder.

"Well, I asked you to marry me in the bathroom. Tell me that isn't the funniest thing ever." And Sara tossed her head back and laughed heartily, and that, to Greg, was the very best part of his day. And it had been a very good day indeed.


	10. Chapter 10

"Sara!" Catherine walked into the garage, calling to the woman whose feet were sticking out from the underside of the mangled Jeep before her. Sara rolled out from the undercarriage of the Jeep, and wiped at a few hairs off her face.

"Hey."

"So Andy just called the lab with an update." The older woman was grinning widely. Andy… she knew an Andy… Martin. Mia's boyfriend. Fiance.

"And?" She smiled up at her coworker, who was tapping her foot incessantly, seething excitement.

"Mia's home with the baby."

"And?" She propped herself up on her elbows.

"Annnnd when can you be done here?"

"Hour or so?" Sara sat up, grinning. "He said we could stop by, didn't he?" The vigorous nod from the older woman made Sara shake her head with amusement.

"You in?"

"Obviously."

"I'll push papers until you're off, then." Catherine headed out of the garage, and Sara watched her go, down the hall, rolling her eyes at the extra bounce the other woman had in her step. Greg came out of the DNA lab, and headed towards the break room, cocking an eyebrow in Sara's direction.

"Sara Jane." He called down the hallway, to her. "Coffee?" He grinned at her nod, and disappeared into the break room. Sara scribbled down some notes on a legal pad on her knee about collections made from the underside of the car.

"So what's up with Catherine? She practically pranced down the hall." He walked into the garage, handing her a steaming mug of decaf break room sludge.

"Andy called. Said Mia and baby are home safe. Thank you." She accepted the mug from him, and took a long sip.

"And?"

"He said we could drop by."

"Ah." Greg took a sip of coffee, leaning against the stool behind him. "I take it you are going?"

"Greg. New baby. Obviously going." She grinned at him, and he rolled his eyes, convinced that was what she sounded like as a thirteen year old. "Just tell Cath you want to go, too."

"Yeah, no. Too much estrogen. I'll wait until there are pictures all over the lab, thanks." He smiled at her, and pulled her pant leg, making her glide towards him on the roller she was still sitting on. He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, and pushed her back towards the Jeep. "You women are all the same."

"How's that?"

"Women and babies. You see them, and you turn to mush. Your voices all get three octaves higher, and you fail to make coherent sentences." She smiled at him, as his eyes quickly scanned over the Jeep with a somewhat lamentful expression on his face.

"I'm sorry you're stuck in the lab, Greg. Really." He glanced at her quickly before taking another sip.

"Well, one must take one for one's team, I believe is what Ecklie told me."

"You let him push you around too much."

"That's what happens when you change careers. It's fine. There's new machinery to play with." Greg swirled the black coffee in his mug, resting his head against the crate behind him, cocking his head to the side, looking at her.

"What?"

"Just enjoying your beauty." He grinned at her tiredly, and laughed as she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. Me and the oil grease and the dirt smudges and the coveralls and-"

"I love it when you wear the coveralls."

"Greg, not at work."

"Have I told you how much I want to do it in the garage?" He was clearly joking with her, by the expression across his face, but his words had a serious tone, that both created an uncomfortable pressure below her waist and made her laugh simultaneously.

"Greg, seriously."

"Or the layout room. Or interrogation. Oh!" He sat up, and leaned forward conspiratorially. "How about the DNA lab?"

"Gregory! The DNA lab has glass for walls!" Sara laughed softly.

"Exactly." His eyes sparkled, darkening as they swept over her folded limbs. "So what time are you coming home from the estrogen-fest?"

"I won't be long. Andy will probably kick us out." Sara drained the rest of her coffee and glanced at the mangled Jeep behind her. "I have to get this processed, though."

"Alright aleady. I'll leave you to it. Stop by when you go to leave?"

"Of course."

Greg got up, holding a hand out for Sara's empty coffee cup, and leaned down to press a slow, gentle kiss to her mouth. Just as she reached up to tangle her fingers into his hair, and pull him closer, he broke the kiss, and stood, grinning down at her.

"That's what's waiting for you at home." He cocked an eyebrow at her playfully, and made his way to the break room to deposit the coffee mugs without another word. Sara watched him go, her eyes falling on the gentle slope of his shoulders, covered in the lab coat. There really was nothing sexier than a man in a lab coat. Smiling to herself, she laid back down on the roller, and scooted under the Jeep once more, to inspect the suspension. They could totally do it on the roller. Focus, Sidle.

And hour or so later, she had stopped in at DNA, where Greg had accepted the kiss she pressed to his lips before continuing on presenting the DNA results from Nick and Warrick's case. She had gotten in the Denali with Catherine, and as they pulled into the driveway of the little house Mia had bought last spring with Andy, she couldn't help but smile.

"He's beautiful."

"He kept me up all night." Mia laughed, shifting the tiny baby in her arms. "Rock paper scissors for who wants to hold him first." Catherine and Sara glanced at each other, taking seats on Mia and Andy's couch. After the best two out of three, Mia handed the sleeping little bundle to Catherine, sitting back and relaxing, rubbing her tired arms.

"Hello." Catherine held a finger out to the newborn, and he first brushed his fist against her finger, then wrapped his hand around it, squeezing tightly.

"What name did you finally agree on?" Sara glanced at the newborn before turning her attention to the DNA tech.

"Miles. Miles Davis Martin." Mia grinned broadly. "Andy has a thing for jazz."

"Hi there. Oh he's so sweet." Sara leaned over Catherine's shoulder, making faces at him as he woke up.

"So. You and Greg." Mia leaned forward carefully, picking up the mug of tea from the coffee table, and turning her attention to Sara. "Let's see the ring." Sara grinned, leaning forward, and holding her hand out to Mia, who examined the tiny sparkly diamond in the delicate setting. "That's gorgeous."

"His grandmother's."

"Wow."

"It's still a bit new to all of us." Catherine glanced up at the two women, holding Miles and rocking him gently, lulling him to sleep again. "You should see the huge grin he has plastered on his face. You'd think he won the lottery."

"Warrick owes me fifty bucks." Mia smiled, leaning back into the chair. "I'm sure Greg will still be grinning by the time I get back."

"I'm sure he'll be grinning fifty years from now." Catherine laughed softly, and turned her attention back to Miles, who was yawning widely.

"How are you feeling?" Sara asked, her eyes sweeping over the few bottles of pain reducers on the cabinet behind Mia.

"Pretty good, actually. Glad to be not pregnant anymore. For a while I thought he'd never come out."

"Lindsey was like that."

"You and Greg thought about children?" Mia abruptly shifted her attention to Sara, causing the other woman to blush slightly.

"Uh, no. Well, not yet."

"What do you think?" Catherine asked softly. Sara glanced from Miles to Catherine, and to the tiny diamond on her finger.

She had never thought about children, she wasn't very good with them. Greg, however, he was a natural. The kids that lived in his apartment building all but cried when he told them they were going to have to find new xBox partners, because he was moving in with her. He was effortless with his nieces and nephews, the few that she had met. When they worked cases involving children, he never hesitated in calling dibs on extracting the information they needed form them. He was casual with teenagers, talking them out of their nerves about the latest rock album or the baseball scores before getting them to trust him enough to spill their secrets. He was every kid's favorite big brother, or crazy uncle. Greg, Greg was the one that was good with children. She didn't even have the desire to hold Miles, afraid she would break him. Or drop him.

"Greg would make a great father."

"What about you?" Mia arched an eyebrow at her, smiling softly.

"Well, I'd hardly want to be the one to rob him of a chance to be someone's father."

After about a half hour, Mia had begun to look tired, and Catherine handed Miles back to his mother, and they bid goodbye to Mia and Andy, making their way to the Denali in the driveway. Catherine drove Sara to her apartment building, and the ride was quiet, save for the steady stream of commentary about how well Mia looked, how cute Miles was, how difficult labor was, from Catherine. Sara barely listened, but nodded in agreement, and laughed at the right intervals.

Something else was on her mind.

Children.

Children with Greg.

Suddenly she felt incredibly anxious to get home. Greg would have gotten off shift about an hour ago, and he had indicated that he would meet her at her apartment. He had been right. Babies did strange things to women. Sara had never, in her life, ever, thought about having children of her own. Ever. Now she wanted to sit down and discuss this. Did he want children? Of course he wanted children. How could he not want children. She rubbed her stomach absently, wondering for a moment what it would be like to be eight months pregnant. The thought scared her, there was no way she could be responsible for another human being.

But there was something about the idea of being eight months pregnant with Greg that didn't raise her blood pressure. Maybe she could be okay with having children. Why hadn't they talked about this before getting engaged?

"You're not even listening to me." Catherine's voice pulled her out of her thoughts, and she turned to face the other woman, before realizing they had pulled up at her building.

"Huh?"

"I said have a good night off."

"Right. Yeah, hey thanks." Sara unbuckled herself, and grinned at the older woman brightly. "See you Wednesday."

"Tell Greg I said hi." Catherine waved, and pulled out of the parking area, leaving Sara to make her way up the stairs to the apartment. She opened the lock with her keys before tossing them in the bowl, and shrugging off her jacket as she shut the door behind her.

"Greg?" She called out to him, not seeing him at first glance.

"In here." He came down the hall from their bedroom, pulling a tee shirt over his frame, allowing her to catch a glimpse of his abdomen. "So how was the estrogen trinity?"

"What did you call me?" She arched an eyebrow at him as he pulled her against him, and kissed her sweetly.

"The old mother, the new mother, and the- never mind." He wrapped an arm around her waist, and hugged her lovingly. "Ah! You even smell like baby."

"I didn't even hold him."

"Him! What's his name?" Greg let go of her, making his way to the couch and flopping down casually. She smiled, the act itself was within his realm of normal motions, but she couldn't help but smile, she rather liked him 'flopping' into her life like he had. What she didn't know, however, was how he had managed to flop his way into her heart, but she rather liked him there, as well.

"Miles. Miles Davis Martin." She smiled softly at him, and kicked off her shoes, and Greg lay back, hand extended to her. She climbed on top of him, resting her head against the crook of his neck. He pressed a kiss to her hair, and wove his leg around hers, hugging her tightly.

"She mentioned Andy liking jazz I think at some point, maybe when they were first dating." She felt him relax under her, and she sighed deeply, relaxing as well.

"Greg?"

"Mmhmm."

It was now or never.

"What d'you think about children?" He didn't answer right away, but continued to run his hand along her back.

"See, now, this is what I was talking about earlier…you know, with the whole babies do strange things to women." She rolled her eyes, not bothering to look him in the eye. Instead she listened to his heartbeat, soft and even beneath her. He wasn't freaking out. He had already made up his mind.

Oh god.

"Seriously."

"Children in general, or children that hypothetically share DNA with you and me?"

"The latter."

"Children that would have you and I as parents?"

"Yes." She sat up, resting her chin on her hands on his chest casually.

"What do you think about children that share our DNA?"

"I asked you first." She smiled nervously at him, waiting for him to answer. He bit his lip, looking as if he was choosing his words carefully, before looking back at her with a grin forming on his lip.

"Sharing DNA sounds good." She sat up, and laughed, smacking him. He chuckled, holding up a hand to guard himself from her as he sat up, and twisted to lean against the back of her couch, with her in his lap. His hands found her hips, and she rested her knees against his shoulders, looking him in the eye, sitting on his thighs. He leaned in to kiss her, and she rolled her head away, running her hand through his hair.

"Seriously, Gregory."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"You want my honest, truthful opinion?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Yes I want children."

"Greg-" Sara tried her best to remain visibly calm, but she failed miserably.

"Sara Jane, relax."

"I just, I don't know. I've never wanted children. Ever. But today, today Mia asked me if we had thought about kids. I panicked." He crinkled his brow, listening to her carefully, regarding her seriously. She smiled faintly at him, and leaned an elbow on her knee. "I panicked, until I realized she was talking about us. You and me. Being pregnant was always a scary thought, Greg, but being pregnant with you." She paused, biting her lip nervously. "That doesn't sound so bad."

"Yeah?" He leaned back against the back f the couch, and grinned at her. "Really?"

"Maybe one."

"One?"

"Yeah."

"Sara?"

"Mmhmm."

"I would love to have one child with you." He slipped an arm around her waist, and shifted her so that she lay across the seat cushions, and he hovered just above her. He dropped a slow, lingering kiss to her lips, and he leaned into her, wedging his way between her thighs. He couldn't help but grin as she wrapped a leg around his hip lazily. In time, they would be the third leg of the estrogen trinity. The old mother, the new mother, and the mother to be. He pulled away from her, and she moaned softly, frustrated at the loss of contact.

"_Gregory_."

"How about I take you up on that baby idea?"

"Now?" She arched her eyebrow at him and pulled him down to meet her lips.

"We could always use the practice." His words were mumbled against her, and he laughed as her hands went straight for the hem of his tee shirt, pulling it urgently off his slim frame. Practice indeed.


	11. Chapter 11

Gil Grissom had succeeded in numerous ventures in his 49 years. He had become an accomplished entomologist, had become supervisor of the most notorious shift in the country's most decorated crime lab, he had the largest collection of all his 'bug buddies,' and he carried numerous degrees from some of the most prestigious universities in the country, along with a diverse resume.

What he didn't have was currently walking around the lab, reviewing a case, with a diamond on her finger.

He had taken no notice of when her advances had ceased. He always thought it was professionally inappropriate for them to be romantically involved. When he first met her, she was one of his students. A professor sleeping with a student is unacceptable. When she came to work with him in San Francisco, while they became as equal professionally as they would ever be, he rejected her still, thought of her as his student and not as his colleague. And when he handpicked her to join him in Las Vegas, his hopes of starting something were shunted by his abrupt promotion and strict conduct guidelines.

He hated hurting her as he did, all those years ago. He had pushed her away, his love for his career greater than his love for her bright smile and curly brown hair that was so easily jostled by the light Nevada breeze. He was months from fifty, and all he had to show for his labors and sacrifices were the insects in frames on the walls of his living room.

Her hair had begun to show a flicker of age, as he would spot a flash of a white strand once in a while. She had just turned 34 years old. Still young enough to light up the room with her grin, but he doubted that talent would ever leave her. Laugh lines that had not been around her eyes in her youth had just started to show in the last few months. He heard Nick point them out to her a few weeks back, teasing her on her birthday. She had only smiled in return and blamed it on Greg.

It was that day that he realized he had lost Sara Sidle forever. Blaming laugh lines on the quirky lab rat turned field mouse, as the younger CSIs dubbed him, spoke volumes to him.

It was Greg who made her smile.

Greg, who held her tightly.

Greg, who made her laugh.

Greg, who had won her over; captured her heart.

She was gone. He had missed his chance. He had missed thirteen years of chances.

Now he stood just outside of the break room, listening to Sara and Greg tell the others their plans for a tiny wedding in a tiny chapel outside of Las Vegas, cleverly avoiding inquiries of the nature of the proposal. He was glad that she was happy, but he couldn't help feeling as if she had dipped her hand into his chest and tore out his heart, and carelessly tossed it aside, wasted on her and the promise of happiness that she once held for them.

Karma was definitely a bitch.

He retreated back to his office, where he could just make out Greg in the break room, intently brewing another pot of coffee, helping Sara spill the details of their wedding, only a few months away. He looked older somehow, radiating energy all over the lab, wearing an old pair of corduroys and a simple black tee shirt. His hair had lost it's zany gelled ways a few months ago, but even though it held fast an unruly element, it made him look older, more grown up than he had even been. Greg had started to take his new job seriously, and had started to look, well, like an adult. He looked old enough to be marrying his Sara, but Grissom knew that it was the kid inside that she adored.

He turned his attention back to his paperwork as Greg turned the coffee maker on, and grabbed Sara to demonstrate a goofy version of a ballroom dip. For the first time in his life, he was grateful for a hearing problem, he didn't want to hear Sara's laughter ringing down the halls.

He wanted to readily accept their relationship, like Warrick, support it even, like Catherine. He wanted to let Greg know that he too would execute him and hide the evidence if he ever caused her any pain, just like Nick. Their love, however, had made things well, more pleasant in the lab. The CSIs got along with the lab techs; the lab techs seemed to have forgotten how to gossip, instead focusing on the upcoming wedding in the department.

Sara and Greg remained mostly professional when on the clock, from what he observed, they had always been that professionally compatible, and Greg was rapidly advancing in the field, showing signs of being one of the brightest CSIs Vegas had ever seen.

Sara had done what he had thought was impossible to do, and had found happiness in the process. She had mentored Greg, helping him ease from lab rat to field mouse. He responded to her teaching, absorbing anything she said and everything she did like a massive sponge. Sara had, unlike him, been able to become intimately involved with her prodigy, and had done so without stepping over any boundaries. Greg had, in return of her affections, done what Grissom had been trying to do for years: he crumbled the wall around her heart, and dismantled her guard. He made her be who she was on the inside, all the time.

Yes, he thought. Greg was good for Sara; he made her younger. Sara was good for Greg; she made him older. He glanced up, and watched Sara and Greg discussing the case. They were relocating, walking down the hall, heading towards the layout room with a stack of photos and a cardboard box of evidence. Sara-the-mentor was explaining some aspect of their case to Greg-the-student, in the cool professional manner that he had always upheld. The difference between him and Sara, however, was that Sara did anything but hold Greg at an arms distance.

They were his best team. Better than Nicky and Warrick. Better than himself and Catherine. He silently cursed the younger man for stealing the one good thing about life at the Las Vegas Crime lab. It was his own fault, however, that either of them had come to Vegas in the first place, bringing Sara here years ago, and having a hand in hiring Greg in the lab before that.

Sara had waited patiently for him to come around, all these years. Time and again, he chose science over emotion. What was it that Catherine had said about Sara's biological clock ticking? Did he really think that she was going to wait her whole life for him to choose her over bugs?

He had had a hypothetical conversation with Sara some ten years ago in San Fransisco about marriage and children. As he recalled, she had smiled wearily at him, and recited Voltaire's words, "Marriage is the only adventure open to the cowardly." When they reached the issue of children, she had taken a deep breath, and stated that while he was able to take his time, she had to think carefully and plan ahead if procreation was to be one of her life goals.

………

"Gris?" Greg's entrance into his office startled him out of his musings over his loss of the love of his life. He looked up, and met the younger man's gaze.

"What can I do for you, Greg?" He removed his glasses and sat back in his chair.

"Uh, well, nothing, I'm heading out to interrogate the brother with the drugs with Brass, Sara and I think he's our man, but I was walking past, and you seemed out of it a bit." The younger CSI knitted his brow in concern. "Are you ok?"

"Perfect." It was a lie, but he was good at them.

"Alrighty then, boss." Greg broke into a wide grin. "I just made more coffee if you're interested." Greg started to leave, and Grissom found himself calling him back.

"Greg."

"Yessir." Greg leaned against the doorjamb.

"My congratulations on your good news." He watched loathingly as Greg's lopsided grin stretched wider.

"Thank you sir." It wasn't that he loathed Greg, it was that he loathed the idea of anyone loving Sara besides himself. He liked Greg, genuinely. He thought of Greg as the apprentice that would soon be surpassing all of them in his talent and abilities. Yes, he liked Greg. He just didn't like Greg loving Sara.

He made his way to the door when Greg had continued down the hall, and watched his retreating form. Greg had thrust his arms through his sweater, and yanked it over his head, pausing at the door to the locker room.

"Hand 'em over, Sara Jane… No, I'm totally driving… You promised." The grin on his face as he leaned against the locker room door was reminiscent of the quirky lab tech he used to be, and Grissom turned back to his office, not wanting to bear witness to their happiness any longer.

Who was he kidding; he could never make her smile as bright as she does when she's around Greg. It wasn't that she had stopped waiting for him; he knew she would eventually. It was the ease in which Greg came into her life, and made it better, making the act of loving Sara Sidle look so easy, it left him wondering if loving her had always been that easy, and it was him with the problem.

He had made a promise to Sara, one that he kept to himself, that he would make sure her story had a happy ending. Now that promise was no longer his to make. They could have been happy, they could have dated and married and had children, and sat back in old age and watched them grow. It was his fault the diamond on her finger wasn't his family heirloom, his fault her children wouldn't look like him.

Grissom sat back down at his desk, and cast a forlorn gaze towards the stack of paperwork he had to get through before his meeting with Ecklie in the morning. His happiness was never a variant in the equation.

If Greg made Sara happy, that was enough for him.


	12. Chapter 12

Sara paced around her living room, glancing at the clock.

She still had another hour and a half before Greg would finish up with the DNA samples with Warrick and Grissom's case, there had been a lot to identify and process at the messy crime scene, so much that Greg had to put a hold on everyone else's case to keep the samples from the family homicide separate from all the other cases. That gave her roughly two hours.

Oh god.

The last two minutes and forty five seconds had passed by excruciatingly slowly. She stopped pacing, for fear of wearing a track in the carpet, and returned to the bathroom. She perched herself on the back of the toilet, grabbing Greg's sweatshirt from it's hook next to the shower, and pulled it over her head. She got a whiff of the scent that distinctly belonged to her fiancee, the crisp bite of ivory soap, a whisper of sweat, a touch of the chamomile shampoo that was on the side of the tub, and the unmistakable aroma of 'Mountain Breeze' Degree that sat on his shelf in her medicine cabinet. To her left was the sink, and on the counter beside it was a little strip of plastic.

She was late. Three weeks late. At first she was in denial about it, chocking it up to stress, or her sometimes poor mathematical skills. But she wasn't overly stressed, and she minored in math at Harvard. She had cried watching a PBS commercial about eating dinner together as a family, and just today she had fought off a craving for a hamburger, despite being a vegetarian for 8 years now. Something was wrong, and she was going to rule out the scary life changing possibilities first. It was probably too late for that.

Oh god.

She peered over at the indicator window on the top of the plastic tester. Two, dark, thick, blue lines stared back at her. She blinked, rubbing her eyes childishly with the fraying cuff of Greg's sweatshirt, and looked again. Still sitting on the back of the toilet, still holding a pregnancy test, still two lines, still, well, pregnant.

Oh god.

She tossed the offending tester into the bowl of the sink, and climbed down from her perch, approaching the full length mirror suspended on the back of the bathroom door. She didn't think she looked pregnant, she looked the same as she did this morning… however, this morning, she guessed, she was pregnant as well. Sara lifted up the oversized, overused hoodie's front, revealing her abdomen. It didn't look pregnant. She turned to the side slowly. Nope, no swelling. She dropped the front of the hoodie, and turned from the mirror. Pregnant. She was, _they_ were pregnant.

Greg.

He didn't know. She needed to tell him. She hurried into the living room, and snatched her cell phone from the coffee table, dialing 6 on the speed dial and holding her ear up to the receiver. After the second ring, Greg's voice was in her ear.

"Sanders." She froze. She wasn't thinking, she needed to calm down. She needed to respond.

"Hi."

"Hey, I've just about cleared up this catastrophe they are calling the DNA lab, I'll be over in a little while, ok?" Greg hadn't noticed the hesitancy in her voice.

"Umm, ok." Oh god, awkward pause.

"Sara, are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Liar." Oh no. This was a bad idea, she shouldn't be telling him over the phone, what was she thinking. "Are you feeling well?"

"Umm, yeah, I'm fine, just, umm. Just come home when you are done, ok?"

"I always do, love."

"Ok. Well, I'll be here. At home."

"Alright." Greg took the phone away from his ear for a moment, staring at it curiously, before putting it back to his ear. "I'll see you in a little while? Bout an hour?"

"Ok."

"Alright."

"Ok."

"I have to finish up, otherwise I'll never get home."

"Right, sorry, see you in about an hour, then. I love you."

"Me too." She snapped the phone shut. What the hell was she thinking.

………

"Me too." Greg snapped the phone shut, looking at it like it may bite him before slipping it back in its holder. Nick stood in front of him, case file open. He had been interrupted by Sara's call, and hadn't moved. "That was weird."

"What was weird?" Nick closed the file and leaned conspiratorially over the DNA counter. "What did she say?"

"Something's up with her. I don't know. She told me to come home after I was done here."

"Don't you do that anyways?"

"Well, yeah, but she's never called me to tell me to before."

"Girls, man."

"Yeah. I don't know. She's never been, well, girly." Greg shrugged, focusing back on the epithelials on the slide in the microscope. "Definitely weird. Weird like your suspects DNA, look at this."

………

Sara was going mad. This was ridiculous. She came to stand in front of the full length mirror again, and lifted the front of the sweatshirt, inspecting her belly. Still nothing. She shook her head, she was being irrational. It had only been a few minutes. Greg was definitely not going to look at her and immediately come to the conclusion that they were going to have a baby. She would have to tell him.

She continued to hold up the bottom of the sweatshirt, and placed a hand gently on her abdomen, afraid to touch it. She traced nonsense patterns an inch our so below her belly button, applying almost no pressure. She left the mirror, and went to the living room, to sit on the couch. Sara slouched on the couch, to get a better view of her stomach. Was there really a baby in there? The tester had said that there was, but it didn't feel any different. This was ridiculous. She frowned at her smooth plane of skin, and tried looking at it from a different angle, tilting her head.

"Well, I guess that this is the beginning. Um, I'm your mother. My, um, my name is Sara. Your father, he'll be home soon, his name is Greg." She took a deep breath. "Look, we're getting married. Really. In about three weeks. So you won't have to worry about being born out of wedlock or anything. Completely legitimate. I know what you're thinking, you're thinking that I haven't eaten anything in a few hours, and that I laid on my stomach to crawl through a crime scene six hours ago, sorry about that, and that this apartment is too small, and that your dad and I aren't married yet, and that Las Vegas isn't the best city in the world to grow up in, but Warrick did, and he turned out ok, and he didn't have his parents, but you will have both of us, and everything is going to be ok."

……

"Greg?" Sara turned her head slightly, touching her temple to his forehead. They had been curled up amidst her fluffy comforter for a while now, having made their way to bed after watching a mindless movie, and Greg filling her in on the half shift of lab tech gossip she missed earlier in the evening. Greg's slow, even breathing, she had originally thought, would soothe her, and she would be able to drift to sleep without telling him about the baby. However, it was weighing on her mind. Heavily.

The response she received from the sleeping lump beside her was one she had expected.

"Mmmsleepin." He breathed into her shoulder. She pursed her lips anxiously as he snuggled closer to her, pressing the entire length of the front of his body against the back of hers. One of his arms had come to rest under her head like a pillow, but the other tightened its grip on her stomach, making her suddenly remember the test strip and the news. She tapped his arm impatiently, trying to rouse him.

"Greg." She rotated in his firm grip, and rolled on top of him gently. "Gregory." He pushed his wavy bangs out of his eyes. "Greg!"

"Mmmmpht." His expression protested her attempts at waking him up, but his hands slid down along her hips, and came to rest determinedly on the curve of her bottom. She grinned with anticipation of telling him their news, letting his knee wedge it's way between her thighs, parting her legs. "I'm sleeping, Sara."

"Liar."

"I was, then."

"I wanted to tell you something." This of course brought a sleepy grin to his face.

"Let's have it then, Sidle."

"Look at me." He groaned, but opened his eyes slowly.

"I know, I know, you're beautiful. Time for sleep." He tried to roll over, but Sara held him on his back.

"Wait, no I haven't told you yet." She was drumming on his chest, tastefully covered in a faded Stanford tee shirt. "It's really important." She grinned widely at him, and he propped his head up with her pillow to look her straight in the eye.

"Out with it then, woman." Greg looked at her, expectantly, eyelids drooping with sleep, wavy hair all rumpled and everywhere. "In the middle of a sleep cycle, here." Sara pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, and snuggled into the crook of his neck, fingers tangled in his unruly hair. She flicked her tongue out and captured his earlobe between her lips sucking gently like she had the night he had first kissed her. This elicited a soft moan from his throat.

"Gregory."

"Mmmhmm." She kept her whispers close to his ear, mostly because she was too chicken to look him in the eye.

"I'm pregnant." She braced herself, somewhere inside her, despite the glistening diamond on her finger, the Sara she was before Greg Sanders loved her winced, waiting for rejection, and a fist.

Greg felt her tense up, as he processed her words carefully. He ran a gentle hand along her back, moving from her waist to her shoulder, and back again trying to ease her tension before he spoke. Pregnant. She was pregnant. They were pregnant.

Oh god.

They were going to have a baby.

He pressed a chaste kiss to the skin of her neck beside his lips.

"Really?" His voice dropped to that low throaty whisper that had turned her on a few months ago in the layout room. He turned his lips to her ear, smiling against it. "A baby? You and me?" When he finally saw her face, he felt the tension dissipate from her body, her expression softened from preparation for rejection to relief, and that tiny sparkle of happiness that had begun to regularly show in her eyes, and her smile. She nodded, a rosy tint rising in her cheeks, at how silly she had felt, worrying what he would say.

"What do you think?" She pursed her lips together, letting a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. He gently rolled her on her side, and held her jaw carefully, pulling her towards him. Greg kissed her in earnest, delicately telling her that he was grateful she had woken him up, sleep cycle forgotten.

She rolled over, laying on the flat of her back on his other side. She took his fingers from her neck, and pressed a kiss into the palm of his hand, before placing it just below her belly button, on a flat plane of smooth skin. Greg sat up at this, and sat beside her, cross-legged in the dark of the bedroom. He took her hand with his free one, tangling their fingers together and holding them in his lap. He brought his gaze to meet hers, an expression of awe on his face.

"There's a baby in there?" She barely heard his whisper, but nodded, tears welling in her eyes. He turned back to her stomach, lifting his palm, and leaning over her.

"Hello." His breath tickled her abdomen, and she smiled. "I'm your Dad." He pressed a kiss just above the loose elastic of her panties. "I'm your Dad and I love you. Whoever you will be." She giggled as he nuzzled her belly lightly, placing a trail of Eskimo kisses. "And don't worry, I intend to marry your mother."

Sara let him press one last kiss to her middle, before she pulled him up to her, and pressed her own kiss to his lips.

"I love you, Gregory."

"Just when I thought I couldn't love you more, Sara Jane." He pressed a kiss to her lips, and snuggled into her, placing a gently hand to her stomach. "Thank you for making me a daddy." She smiled as he giggled into her shoulder. "Unless, of course, she looks like Nick." Sara laughed, and turned in his arms, snuggling close to his frame.

"Are you happy, Greg?" He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, and settled back into the pillow.

"Elated, Sara Jane. Delirious."


	13. Chapter 13

Greg Sanders returned to the bedroom of Sara's apartment, two mugs full of coffee in his hands. Sara had made the bed, and was sitting cross-legged in his old sweatshirt and panties, curls wild all over her face. He grinned stupidly when he saw her, groaning once he remembered that they were planning the wedding today. All of it. He looked down at the bed, littered with invitations that he had to stuff into envelopes, the address book he had to sift through, the information from the caterer that they had to decide on, the documentation on their meeting with the reverend later that evening. He was going to cry. They had all this work to do, and Sara was sitting on the bed in panties. Panties! Sure, they were your basic Hanes cotton blend, but panties nonetheless. He shook his head, amused that she had expected him to sit on a bed with her in her panties and look over paperwork. Women.

He handed her the mug of coffee sweetened with sugar and lightened with milk, taking a sip of his own plain black as he sat down amidst the pile of empty envelopes and invitations. He cringed at the off taste of the decaf over his tongue.

"There isn't any caffeine in this, love." He said, looking at Sara with a perplexed expression on his face.

"Ugh. Don't remind me." She took a sip of the wretched stuff, and turned her attention back to the papers and folders in front of her. Greg rolled his eyes, but turned back to the task at hand. He picked up the list of people they wanted to invite, which, he was sorry to say, wasn't very long. When Sara had called her brother, he had hung up on her before she could say anything, so he was scratched off the list. When they had gone to visit her mother in prison in San Fransisco, she had refused to look Sara in the eye, and had asked to be put back in her cell. She obviously couldn't come, but her rejection caused Sara to cross out all her other family members from the list. His eyes scanned over their coworkers at the lab, a few of his own family members, and a couple of either hers or his friends from college who were local. There weren't more than thirty people on the list, which made Greg's task of stuffing envelopes and writing addresses fairly easy. He glanced over at Sara as she raised the mug to her lips, crinkling her brow in frustration at the caterers' paperwork.

"How many invitations going out?"

"Twenty seven."

"All of these places say they need at least fifty people. At most we'll have twenty seven." She tossed the caterer documents towards the trash bin.

"We'll do the cooking, we don't need a caterer anyway." He licked an envelope closed. "Besides, the party's at Catherine's, we'll just cook stuff and freeze it all week. It'll be fine." She looked at him, frustration all over her delicate features. "Grandma Elsa used to cook for sixty every Christmas. It'll be fine." He scribbled Sofia's address on an envelope, and slid an invitation into it.

"You're right." She tossed the whole catering folder on the floor behind her. She picked up the florist's suggestions, and the photos of the inside of the tiny church. He focused on writing with legible script, and they sorted it out in relative silence for several minutes. Sara let out an exasperate sigh, and he looked up at her from his position on his stomach, surprised to see her send the flowers folder to the same fate as the caterer's folder.

"No flowers, either?" Greg smiled encouragingly up at her.

"All we really need is a couple of daisies for Lindsey and one for me, and one for your jacket. We need the flower lady on Tropicana, not a florist." He nodded, licking another envelope.

"We could get this all organized within the hour if we keep throwing stuff out."

"Everything but the meeting with the Reverend." She picked up the folder with the ceremony information from the sweet old man at the tiny little chapel. Neither Greg nor Sara were particularly religious, but the little chapel was perfect, and they asked the little old Reverend at the little chapel to perform the ceremony. When he had called his sister in Rauma to tell her about the wedding, Malena Sanders had stated that she didn't want to come halfway around the world to go to one of those 24 hour drive thru jobs she had heard about.

"And the rings." Greg sat up, licking another envelope and closing it. "But we can't pick them up until tomorrow." They had brought the bands to an engraver, and had each secretively written down the inscription they wanted on the band they were giving. Greg grinned, thinking of her slim little wedding ring. He had had the shopkeeper engrave "de var alltid min en sann kjaerlhet;" which roughly translated 'you were always my one true love' in the Rauma dialect of Norweigan.

Sara returned his smile, and spread out the papers from the Reverend. She took a long sip of the decaf monstrosity, and picked up a pen.

"So, going with the standard vows, or writing our own?" Sara asked, looking at a list Rev. Hartford had given them of things they needed to discuss before the meeting that night. "Ugh. 'Love, honor, obey.' Yeah, I'm not 'obeying,' sorry."

"I already wrote mine." Greg didn't raise his eyes from the address book and envelope, as he addressed an invitation to Lindsey and Catherine.

"What?"

"We can use the standard ones if you want, but I finished writing my vows already." He smiled kindly at her, licking the envelope and tossing it in a pile of invitations in envelopes, in need of stamps. "I thought of that ahead of time. I didn't want to cram at the last minute. I wanted them to be perfect." He cocked his head to the side, grinning boyishly at her. "What?"

"I haven't even begun to think about them yet." She returned his grin, and wrote that they were not using standard vows on the paper.

"Well mine are done. Completely."

"Can I see them?"

"No way! Then you'll know what I'm going to say. That's not the idea."

"I don't want mine to suck, Greg."

"They won't."

"Seriously, let me see."

"Absolutely not. You'll ruin your own surprise." He paused, taking a sip from the coffee mug. "I finished my vows because I love you more than you love me." She shot him a scandalized look, and threw a tee shirt from the floor at him.

"I can't believe you said that." The grin on her face, however, betrayed her words.

"Just telling it like it is. There is no way, Sara Jane, that you could possibly love me more that I love you. I've been in love with you way longer."

"I'm sorry I took so long." She had let the grin fall from her features, and bit her bottom lip, regarding him seriously. Greg licked another envelope, and sealed it, tossing it aside.

"Time doesn't matter. We're here now, and that's all I ever wanted." He chuckled to himself. "Actually, all I really wanted was a coffee date. Can you imagine? I've got you, and the baby, and we're going to start a life together, and all I wanted was a grande dark from Starbucks."

"Greg, I-"

"I'd do it again in a heartbeat, especially since now I know that everything becomes a happy ending." He smiled innocently, but Sara saw that the prospect of waiting longer than he did wore tiredly on him. He flipped through the addresses again. "I'd wait at least another thirty or so years. But, if you weren't coming around to the truth by retirement, I was going to give up on you and marry a showgirl. What's the next matter we have to discuss on that paper?"

"Umm… The wedding party."

"We don't have one of those."

"No. Did we want one?"

"Like bridesmaids and groomsmen?"

"Yeah."

"Lindsey will be the flower girl, who else would we need?" Greg sipped his now cold coffee, considering his fiancée.

"We don't have a ring bearer."

"We can't carry our own rings?"

"Greg, have you ever been to a wedding?" Sara laughed. "Seriously."

"We'll get Nick to do it." He scribbled the last address on the last envelope, and tossed it in the pile, reaching over for the roll of stamps.

"Ok."

"What else?" He started sticking stamps to envelopes as Sara scanned the paperwork.

"A bunch of questions about the order of the ceremony."

"We don't need anything fancy."

"What about all that traditional stuff Malena told me about?"

"She's been in Norway for way too long. Besides, for all that, you need a stave church, and preferably both parties fluent in Norweigan."

"Are you sure?"

"Have you ever been to a traditional rural Norweigan wedding, Sara?" He peeled the last stamp, and stuck it on the last invitation. "Seriously." The sparkle in his eye told her he was joking with her. He stacked the invitations, and tied a rubber band around them, tossing them on the end of the bed. "Trust me, we are lucky enough that little old man agreed to do the ceremony, we don't need to bombard him with wild ethnic stuff. Besides," He pushed the paperwork aside, and crawled across the bed, pushing her over on her back. He kissed her slowly, breaking away after a few moments. "The minimum requirement of guests is fifty." Sara rolled her eyes from under him, and pushed him off her.

"Not funny, Gregory." But she was laughing.

"You'll thank me someday when we have to go to Rauma for Malena's wedding, trust me. Us Northern folk tend to be overwhelming."

"If we strip this down to the bare and simple, the ceremony is only going to be twenty minutes at most."

"Sara, honey, time doesn't matter." He stood from the bed, and drained his cup, holding out his hand for hers. "Refill?"

"Please." She gave him her empty coffee mug, and watched him as he retreated to the kitchen, running his hand through his hair, making it stick up in odd places. Sara turned her attention back to the paperwork. Who knew there was so much to getting married? No wonder people did it through those 24-hour deals. Greg was right. All this stuff, it didn't matter. She glanced at Grandma Elsa's sparkly diamond. All that mattered was they had gotten here, and they were headed in the same direction.

Greg returned moments later with her mug filled with fresh coffee. He handed her the mug, then pulled up the old hoodie and pressed a kiss to her abdomen, which was still flat, not yet showing the signs of pregnancy. He replaced the bottom of the hoodie over her stomach, and pressed a kiss to her head before climbing onto the other side of the bed. She felt tears well up in her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away.

"What's wrong, Sara?" Concern flashed across Greg's features, but he didn't move from his spot on the other side of the bed.

"Nothing." She wiped away more tears, and choked out a laugh. "I'm just so happy." There was nothing she wanted but to spend the rest of her life with a man who would bring her coffee in bed.


	14. Chapter 14

Jim Brass looked up at the soft knock on his office door to see Greg Sanders leaning against the doorjamb, worried expression across his features, in a ratty pair of worn out jeans and a faded Stanford sweatshirt. The man obviously had the night off, and Brass figured something had prompted him to meander into work.

"Greg. Come on in. Isn't it your night off?" Brass peered at the younger man, watching him as he silently closed Brass's office door, and took a seat in the empty chair on the opposite side of the desk. Greg didn't speak right away, but Brass let him had a few moments of silence before prompting him. "What's on your mind, Greg?" Greg met Brass's steady gaze, and smiled.

"I, um. I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Sure. What is it?" Brass took a sip of his coffee, waiting for Greg to speak. The younger man leaned forward, hands buried in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He took a deep breath, and Brass had the fleeting thought that this is what Greg must have looked like as a child, all fidgety and nervous and tense, and small.

"Sara's pregnant." It came as a whisper, but Greg's smile broadened as the words left his mouth.

"Congratulations." Brass smiled warmly at Greg, before realizing that Greg wasn't finished. "We're happy about this, right?" He set down his coffee mug, and peered at him cautiously. Greg seemed to snap out of whatever thought he was in, and smiled childishly.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm completely psyched." His body betrayed his words and his tone, however, as he nervously ran a hand through his wavy hair.

"But."

"But I'm scared. Don't ever tell her." Brass nodded, trying to suppress a knowing laugh. "I mean, what if she decides that she doesn't want me in the picture? What if she shuts me out? What if she thinks that we aren't ready to have a baby? What if this is all too fast? I mean, a year ago, I was being set up by my college roommate, and a year from now I'll have a wife and a baby." Greg shifted uncomfortably.

It's ok to be scared, Greg. Having a baby is frightening." Brass smirked at the younger man. "I won't tell her a thing."

"Thanks." Greg slouched in the chair, pursing his lips in thought, considering the older man. "I want her, I want the baby, I want a life with her and the baby in it. What if she doesn't-"

"Greg. You are being ridiculous." Brass watched Greg sigh heavily before continuing. "What did she say when you asked her to marry you?"

"She said yes."

"And what can we conclude about her commitment to you from that?"

"That she loves me."

"And."

"And she wants to be with me." Greg cracked a smile, and visibly relaxed. Brass nodded supportively. He was fond of the youngest CSI on the night shift, and felt honored to be the first in the department to know about Sara's pregnancy.

"She won't leave you, Greg. She loves you. You don't have to be a CSI to notice that." Brass took another sip of warmish coffee.

"Thanks, Jim." Greg flashed Brass a half smile. "This is all just such a dream come true, you know? I keep waiting to wake up."

"You've been chasing her since she got off the plane from San Francisco."

"Yeah. I've been in love with her that long, at least."

"Fatherhood. Your life is about to change forever, Greg."

"Yeah. I'm going to be someone's Dad. I can't even begin to wrap my mind around it." Greg sat up, pulling his legs to him on the chair to sit cross-legged on the seat, leaning his chin on one hand.

"You'll be a great father, Greg."

"Yeah?" Brass stopped trying to hide his laughter, and chuckled. The man before him looked more like a child than anything. Greg smiled uneasily at the captain, and Brass picked up on the glint in his eye that was desperately seeking reassurance. He felt a surge of fatherly affection for the younger man.

"Yeah. You and Sara will do a wonderful job with this baby." He glanced at the photo of Ellie and him at Ellie's high school graduation, on the corner of his desk. "You'll do a far better job with your child than I did with mine."

"Jim-"

"A child, Greg, is the most precious gift Sara will ever give you. Being a Dad is the most important job you will ever have. And if you play your cards right, you'll have that job forever."

"Can I do it?" Greg's voice was barely audible, and he nervously ran a hand through his hair for the fifth or sixth time, making his scraggly waves even more unruly.

"Somewhere in there, Greg, hidden inside the Greg that loves that Manson guy, and the obnoxious band tee shirts that make me feel really old, and the jokes and the laughter, is a serious, grown up Greg, who is ready to be a father, ready to have a baby. You're ready for your dreams to come true, Greg. You can do it." Greg grinned at Brass's words, and nodded in understanding.

"Thanks."

"Anytime. When are you going public with this?" Brass smirked. "Or should I not know?" Greg smiled, leaning back in the chair.

"I, uh, I don't know. I think Sara wants to get in the clear, out of the high-risk miscarriage stage before we jinx it. I didn't tell her I was coming here, no."

"You can't keep secrets to save you life, Sanders."

"It's half my secret. And I was panicking. I needed to tell someone."

"You're nuts, you know that?"

"Yeah, Sara tells me everyday."

"Sara has to tell Grissom. It's department policy."

"I know." Greg sighed, his features becoming somewhat more serious. "She doesn't want me to go in with her. She said she wanted to handle it herself."

"It's not you, Greg. They have a complicated past."

"I know."

"Best let her work it on her own terms." Brass reached into the bottom drawer of his desk, and pulled out a half empty bottle of scotch, and small glasses, each with a smattering of opaque stains on the inside, dirty from use. He poured a small amount into each, and pushed one towards Greg. The younger man accepted the glass, and they clinked them together. "To having your dreams come true."

"Time and time again." Greg watched the older man tip back his glass, and followed suit. He winced only slightly as the bitter brown liquid washed through his mouth. As he swallowed the scotch, he realized that everything was going to be ok, the baby, Sara, their future. He could handle it. They could handle it. Brass was right. His dreams had become his life. Greg couldn't suppress the broad grin that spread across his face. Sara was pregnant. He was going to be a Dad. All those lingering feelings of nervousness and anxiety lowly turned over to excitement and love. Someone was going to call him Dad. Brass's laughter brought him out of his thoughts, and he couldn't help but join in, chuckling at himself.

"You're a mess, Sanders."

"Yeah, but I'm a happy mess."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks." The older man just nodded, stashing the bottle of scotch, and Greg didn't have to say anything more.

Greg bid goodbye to the captain, and slipped out the side door of the building. He got into his Denali, and made his way home in a few minutes. He unlocked his apartment door, stepping into the clean, organized space. Sara had obviously spent the afternoon blitzing his apartment. He shook his head at the thought of her cleaning on her day off, and kicked off his shoes. He padded his way down the hallway to the bedroom, where Sara was sitting against his headboard, reading his copy of JFS.

"Hey. Where'd you go?" She closed the journal, and held out a hand to him as he crawled across the comforter, coming to rest with his head pillowed against her thigh, wrapping his arms around her hip and leg. He pressed a gentle kiss to her leg, and closed his eyes wearily as he felt her fingers sift through his hair affectionately.

"Had to stop in at work to get something."

"Oh? I could have gotten it for you later tonight."

"Nah, I had to get it myself."

"What?"

"My confidence." Greg had already half fallen asleep, thanks to her fingers. Sara arched an eyebrow at him, but shook her head, turning her gaze toward the article she had been reading. "I love you." His words were mumbled half with sleep and half because he spoke into her leg.

"I love you too."


	15. Chapter 15

Greg stood at the mirror in the backroom of the tiny church, nervously fidgeting with his tie. Why on earth Sara thought he looked good with this thing on he would never know. He ran a hand through his hair, making it a bit more disheveled than Sara probably wanted. There was a swift rapping at the door, then Nick's voice from the other side.

"Hey man, can I come in?" Before he could answer, the door swung open, and Nick stepped in, closing the door behind him with a silent click.

"She hasn't changed her mind, has she?" Greg turned back to the mirror, and his vain attempts at straightening his tie.

"No, she's almost ready. Have you seen her dress?" Nick leaned against the edge of the counter, facing Greg, watching him with an amused expression as the younger man fought with the tie.

"She wouldn't let me see it. She didn't even bring it home, took it straight to Catherine's. My sister got to see it as soon as she got off the plane. And Warrick wouldn't stop talking about it yesterday. I'm dying to see it."

"She looks beautiful."

"She _is_ beautiful." Greg slipped the knot out of the tie in disgust, sighing in frustration. "When I dreamt of this day, the tie was never a problem." He turned helplessly to Nick. "Can you make it not suck?" Nick laughed, taking the tie from Greg and smoothing out the creases the other man had caused. Nick created the perfect knot out of what Greg could only consider thin air. Greg turned toward the mirror to inspect Nick's work, and grinned brightly.

"That better?"

"Yeah, thanks." Greg stepped away from the mirror, rubbing his eyes. "You have the rings."

"Yes."

"On your person."

"Yes."

"Right now."

"Yes, Greg. Relax." Nick dug into the breast pocket of the inside of his jacket, and held out in front of Greg two gold wedding bands, tied together with a white bit of ribbon. "No, you can't read the inscription on yours. I promised Sara." Nick tucked the wedding bands back into his pocket and ruffled Greg's hair affectionately.

"You talked to her?" Nick laughed at Greg's words.

"Yeah, actually, I was sent with a message for you."

"Let's have it then." Greg settled his hands on his hips.

"She said if you feel like you're getting cold feet, there are socks in the bag from the cleaners." Greg smiled, and shook his head.

"Well, tell her that I love her, and my feet are anything but cold." Nick nodded, and slipped out the door. Greg made his way to the garment bag from the cleaners, from which earlier he had taken out his suit, and peered in, to see a pair of white athletic socks balled up at the bottom. He pulled them out, and untangled them, his fingers feeling a piece of paper in the toe of one. He pulled out a post it, and smiled as he read Sara's script on the little yellow square. "Just in case- I love you." He tossed them back into the bag, and turned for a last glance at the mirror, fidgeting with an already perfect tie. The little old reverend popped his head in the doorway, reading glasses already posed on his stubby little nose.

"Greg? It's time." Greg nodded, and took a deep breath, praying that he would not forget his vows. He followed the little old man out to the altar.

This was it.

There was no changing minds, not that he would have anyway.

There was no going back, they already had a baby on the way.

This was it.

Greg smiled at his sister, who was seated beside Nick. She winked at him, returning his lopsided grin with an identical one of her own. Lindsey had made her way halfway down the little aisle, tossing daisy petals from the flower lady on Tropicana out of a little basket Sara had given her. She smiled brightly at Greg, taking her seat beside Catherine, as she flashed him a thumbs up.

He turned his attention to Sara, who had started to make her way down the aisle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Warrick look up from Sara, and give a nod to whoever was at the piano off to the side of the tiny altar. Suddenly familiar notes started to fill the room. Seated on the piano bench was Warrick's musician friend, strumming out one of Greg's favorite songs on an old acoustic guitar.

_Give a little bit_

_Give a little bit of your love to me_

_Give a little bit_

_I'll give a little bit of my love to you_

_See the man with the lonely eyes_

_Take his hand, you'll be suprised_

He choked out a laugh, as he recognized the song. He watched Sara pause, confused expression on her delicate features, then recognition as well. She grinned at him, and closed the distance between them quickly.

_So give a little bit_

_Give a little bit of your love to me_

_I'll give a little bit_

_I'll give a little bit of my life for you_

_Now's the time we need to share_

_So send a smile, we're on our way back home_

Nick was right, Sara's dress was beautiful, gently loving her curves, hugging her figure in all the right places, lazily flowing away from her hips, but not hiding the slight swell of her abdomen. Greg didn't notice the rest of the room falling out of sight. He took her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her fingers. He smiled, blinking away teardrops from his lashes. He spun her around, taking in her dress, forgetting for a moment that they were at their wedding. She grinned, chuckling as he took in her figure in the ivory sundress. He pulled her to him, placing his free hand on their baby, kissing her gently, before the reverend began to speak.

"You're supposed to wait for that part, Greg." She whispered, smiling against his lips.

"I love you. You're beautiful." His fingers brushed a stray curl away from her face, and he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek, making her blush.

"Greg, Sara, are you ready?" The kindly old reverend leaned forward at the altar, amused at the pair before him. He looked expectantly from Sara to Greg, and couldn't help returning their smiles.

"I- I've just never seen the dress before." The few occupants of the tiny chapel chuckled to themselves, and Greg turned to Sara and shrugged. "Sorry."

"Now that you've seen it, let's continue, shall we?" The reverend winked at Greg, and turned his attention to the slim book in his hands, as he officiated. "Welcome. Greg and Sara have asked that we join them to be witness to their vows to each other. Greg, would you like to start?" The little old man looked from Sara to Greg. Greg took Sara's left hand in both of his, his finger gently touching Grandma Elsa's diamond. He brought his gaze from her fingers to her eyes, smiling when he saw her blink away welled up tears.

"Sara." His voice hitched. He took a deep breath, trying to remember what he had written. He felt her right hand brush away a stray tear from his cheek. He dropped one hand to her waist, in an attempt to steady himself. The little old reverend took a step back, giving them space. Greg rested his forehead against Sara's, closing his eyes.

"I love you. I've been in love with you for years. I love that even if you are mad at me, you still smile at me. I love that you wear my old sweatshirt twenty-three hours out of the day. I love that you love me, and you agreed to marry me, because I wouldn't have survived without you. I'm promising you that I will always sleep beside you, walk beside you, laugh beside you." Greg opened his eyes, to see that Sara was staring intently at him, lips twisted into the beginnings of a smile. "You are everything to me, and you've made me so happy." Greg blinked away more tears, and tightened his grip on her waist. "I will always love you, I will always be your friend, your companion, your level one to boss around. I will love you and our beautiful children all the days of my life. I promise to never leave your side. I promise to be the Ben Braddock to your Mrs. Robinson, minus the whole falling in love with the daughter thing." She stifled a laugh, and Greg grinned, laying his palm against the swell of her belly. He took a deep breath, trying to finish. "No matter what happens, good, bad, ugly, I promise to always make you laugh, and treasure what we have together. I love you Sara, and I will love you always. Everyday, I wake up, and I fall in love with you all over again. I can't wait to fall in love with you for the rest of our lives." Greg took her hand again and pressed a kiss to her palm. Sara smiled, and pulled him to her, kissing his cheek lovingly. Greg grinned at her affectionately, and her smile broadened.

"Sara?" The little old reverend turned his attention to her, nodding encouragingly. She took a breath to gather composure, and met Greg's gaze.

"Oh, Gregory," She ran a hand through his hair, settling her fingers at the base of his neck, pulling him closer. "I love you so much. You always believed in me, and made me smile, even when I had forgotten how. You have never given up on me, in any of the facets of our life. I used to think that it was that I learned to love you, but now I know that it was that I loved you all along." She ran her fingertips along his jaw line, tracing the faint hint of his five o'clock shadow. She smiled up at him, gathering her thoughts. "I love waking up in your death grip every morning, and falling asleep against you every night. I love sitting on the counter, watching you make pancakes or popcorn after a tough shift. I love showers that turn cold and lazy mornings that turn into all day affairs. You were all I ever wanted, and you knew it long before I ever had any idea. You've given me this child, just when I thought I had missed my chance." She wiped her eyes gently, and grinned at him as he came into focus again blearily. "The kind of love that lasts is born from companionship and trust and loyalty and laughter, and we have all of that and more. Our life started a long time ago, we just didn't notice. I'm sorry I didn't see what was literally right in front of me twelve hours a day, but I'm so glad that you caught on." She took his hand from her abdomen, and held it in both of her smaller ones. "I never dreamed this would be my life, and you have made all my dreams a reality, with tangible evidence, and motive and theories, and fact." Greg's low chuckle made her smile, and she pushed a stray wave of light brown hair out of his eyes. "I promise to love you and our baby until the sun burns out, and time is no more. I love you, Greg, for better, worse, and everything in between. And I will love you forever." Greg pressed a kiss to her forehead, pulling her against him.

"The rings, then." The little old reverend spoke after a moment. Sara and Greg turned to Nick, who dug into his pocket, retrieving the gold bands. He handed Greg's ring to Sara, and Sara's ring to Greg, and took his seat. The reverend nodded for them to continue, and Sara took Greg's hand, slipping the band over his finger. She paused, glancing at Greg's sister, before smiling broadly.

"Tar dette, og tar min hjerte. Take this, Gregory, and take my heart." She stumbled through the Norwegian, but she could only assume she didn't butcher what Malena had taught her, as Greg was grinning back at her, astonished. He took her hand, and placed the delicate band on her finger so it touched the diamond.

"You are my only love, Sara Jane."

"Kiss her, already." The little old reverend instructed, laughing. Greg leaned in, and captured Sara in a gentle kiss. He wrapped his arms around her waist, as hers lay instinctively around his shoulders. The clapping and the whistling from their two dozen witnesses did nothing to deter their attention from each other. Greg broke away from Sara, and bent, pressing a kiss to her little bump of a stomach. Hr fingers ruffled his hair affectionately, and the reverend took that moment to conduct his last duties.

"Introducing Greg and Sara Sanders."

………

Thousands of tiny white Christmas lights frosted the fence around Catherine's backyard. Off to the side, the bright Nevada sun had started its dissent into the horizon, as the property became littered with the guests of Greg and Sara's wedding. Warrick's musician friend Jake had turned on the sound system, and Catherine had just finished spreading daisy petals along a few patio tables. Greg's sister, Malena, was putting the finishing touches on the homemade cake as Nick double-checked his camera.

Lindsey stood at the front door, anxiously waiting for Greg's Denali to pull into the driveway. It was her job to let Warrick know when 'the Sanderses' had arrived. She ventured out to the stoop, leaning over the railing to get a better view of the street. Her pale green dress blew gently in the breeze, and she grinned widely. Everyone had a job to do. Even though Greg and Sara had told her mom and Warrick that they only wanted just a little party, Lindsey had watched her mother get that glint in her eye, and was a trusted co-conspirator in the throwing of the wedding reception. She had cleaned the house with her mother all week, set up the lights with Nick and Warrick and Uncle Jim, and had helped out Greg's sister, who, in her opinion, was even wilder and possibly crazier than Greg. Now, everything was almost in place, and she caught sight of a black Denali, identical to the one her mother drove, pull onto the street.

"They're here!" She ran into the house, heading straight to the backyard. "Warrick! Greg and Sara are here!" Commotion ensued, as everyone took their places. Moments later, Greg emerged from the sliding door, holding Sara's hand.

"Hey guys- whoa." Greg had stopped short, one foot in the backyard, the other still in the house. Sara pushed him lightly out of the way, coming to stand beside him. Her eyes grew wide as she took in the state of the backyard, hand flown to her mouth in complete surprise.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Greg and Sara Sanders." Lindsey called out, from Warrick's side. The applause that rose from the twenty-six people in Catherine Willow's backyard was heard all the way down the street. Greg grinned wildly, and turned to Sara, who was still taking in the backyard. He pressed a kiss to her temple, and that seemed enough to catch her attention. With a little encouragement from the occupants of the backyard, Greg twisted Sara in his arms into a ballroom dip, and firmly kissed her, with enough vigor that Warrick covered Lindsey's eyes.

Greg and Sara eventually pulled away from each other, as the handful of people in the backyard gathered around them, congratulating them. Greg let go of Sara's hand just long enough to hug Catherine, and kiss his sister. Sara hugged Warrick tightly, and kissed Nick. Moving through the small crowd, Greg noticed Warrick's musician friend standing off to the side, sliding a CD into the stereo. He and Sara had found themselves in the middle of the backyard, as a voice he didn't recognize came over the speakers, with a hauntingly uninhibited quality.

_You, with your hand outstretched_

_Finger on the key_

_This lock that you release_

_Is opening but isn't free_

_And I hope that you can see_

_How it beats inside of me_

_Instead of pushing fear aside_

_I want to run I want to hide_

_I am vulnerably yours_

Greg reached out to her, pulling her to him, wrapping one arm around her waist, holding her hand with his other. He pressed a kiss to her lips, and smiled against them as he felt her fingers make their way to the nape of his neck, lazily tangling themselves in his hair. They began their brand of dance, casually falling into step with each other. They ignored the other people in the backyard, both listening to the unfamiliar voice, and occasionally whispering something in the other's ear.

_She, who is wanting me_

_Whose touch can make me cry_

_I can only understand_

_By never asking her why_

_Hear the contradictions fly_

_And as hard as I may try_

_Every truth becomes a lie_

_In the ache of her reply_

_I am passionately..._

Sara twirled effortlessly in Greg's arms, he would let her go, then pull her back against him. Greg dropped his head to Sara's shoulder, wrapping both arms tightly around her waist. She smiled at something he whispered into her neck, and laid her arms across his shoulders, weaving her fingers into his unruly hair.

_Yours_

_And the saddest eyes are_

_Yours_

_And the softest skin is_

_Yours_

_And the hope I borrow is_

_Yours_

_So won't you let me in I'm yours_

_All that I begin is yours_

_Every prize I win is yours_

_At your feet again I'm yours_

_All I am is yours_

Warrick had slung an arm around Lindsey's shoulders, standing in between the blonde and Nick, who took a few pictures every now and then. He felt Catherine's hand on the small of his back, and turned, grinning widely at her. He felt her arm slip through his, as Greg spun Sara again, making her laugh, then pulled her close again. Warrick turned his attention to Catherine, who was watching Greg and Sara.

"We did good, Cath." She nodded, not taking her eyes from the pair dancing in her backyard.

"We did."

_All I am is wanting you_

_I've fallen down and I can't seem to come to_

_If I should die before I wake_

_I commend my soul into this ache_

_Up above the world so high_

_Where the water tends to meet the sky_

_She's all I'm after by the toe_

_And I won't let go..._

_And I wanted you to know_

_That if you reap what you would sew_

_I would take it blow by blow_

_All I am is..._

Sara let Greg twirl her, then pressed her body against his. She felt his hands run the length of her back, settling at the curve of her hips. He rested his forehead against hers, holding her close.

"I love you." Her voice was barely above a whisper, making him smile.

"I love you more." He chuckled, and she grinned at him, placing a hand on either side of his face, pulling him to her, kissing him soundly.

_Yours_

_And the saddest eyes are_

_Yours_

_And the softest skin is_

_Yours_

_And the hope I borrow is_

_Yours_

_So won't you let me in I'm yours_

_All that I begin is yours_

_Every prize I win is yours_

_At your feet again I'm yours_

_All I am is yours_

_Yours_

Greg twirled her one last time, and she pulled him into an embrace, stilling their feet as the melody died away. He kissed her chastely, and they broke apart, not yet willing to leave the other's arms. Greg flashed Sara a boyish grin, and took her hand, kissing her palm lightly.

…………

When everyone had a glass of champagne or sparkling cider in hand, Nick rapt a fork against the glass lightly, getting everyone's attention quickly.

"As ring bearer, in lieu of a best man, I just wanted to say a few words." He held his glass of champagne out before him. "Congratulations to Greg and Sara, we always knew they'd come around." He grinned in their direction, where Greg had wrapped an arm around Sara's waist, amused expression on both of their features. "Greg and Sara are perfect for each other. Never have I seen Sara smile as much as she has since she let Greg into her life. They are an amazing team, they are the best of friends, and they will be remarkable parents."

Nick took a breath, his features becoming more serious. "I used to worry about the both of them, that Sara would bottle herself up, refuse to let anyone in, become married to her work, to cases, so no one would save her like she needed to be saved, and that Greg would settle for the woman he loved second best, because Sara was always his one true love. I used to worry that they would both let their lives fall into disarray, that Greg would spend his life wishing the woman he slept next to was Sara, and Sara would lose her faith in humanity, after too many cases and not enough time off." Nick glanced down at his glass before continuing. "I can speak for the entire lab, and everyone here when I say that I'm so glad they found each other, finally they looked at the trees and saw the forest. I only want them to be happy, and I know that they will be happy with each other, and their baby, who I'm sure I will spoil rotten."

Nick raised his glass, and turned toward Greg and Sara. "To Greg and Sara, congratulations on finding the rarest of loves in the oddest of places. Best of luck with everything you do, everywhere you go, whomever you meet along the way." There was a chinking of glass, and murmur of agreement throughout the party. Sara made her way to Nick, throwing her arms around him and kissing him chastely.

"Thank you, Nicky." She let go of him to make way for Greg, who shook Nick's hand.

The rest of the party in Catherine's backyard went on smoothly, soon the small lawn was illuminated by the thousands of white lights along the fence, as the crowd started to wind down, and thin out, as shift began for most of the detectives and lab techs present. Grissom's absence earlier had registered in Sara's mind, and she was surprised to look over from a conversation with Greg's cousin from New York, to see the older man lingering by the sliding door. She excused herself, and made her way across the lawn, toward her boss.

"Hey." She came to stand beside him. His eyes flickered over her figure, taking in her dress.

"Hey. You look amazing."

"Thanks."

"I'm sorry I wasn't at the chapel, I just didn't want to get in the way." He stared at the ground, unable to meet her eye.

"It's ok, you're here now." Sara placed a tentative hand on Grissom's shoulder, encouraging him to return her gaze.

"I'm happy for you, Sara. I only ever wanted you to be happy." Grissom glanced toward her before settling his eye on Greg, who was dancing like a madman with Lindsey, making her double over in giggles. "I want you and Greg to be happy, Sara."

"Very little is needed for a happy life." Sara cited quietly, lips curling into a sad smile.

"Marcus Aurelius Antoninus." She grinned at him, and he returned her smile, feeling a bit more at ease.

"Hey, Mrs. Sanders!" One of Greg's cousins called out to her, and she glanced up before turning her attention back to Grissom.

"Who knew Greg was the conservative one?" She laughed, nodding toward the Sanders relative who had called to her. "I should go." He nodded in agreement, and she slipped her arms around him in an embrace. He returned the hug; breathing in the scents he had always associated with her, chamomile shampoo, freshly clean skin, freshly laundered clothes, a faint hint of lemons. As she let go, and pressed a light kiss to his temple, before leaving his side to join Greg's cousins, Grissom realized that Sara carried with her as well traces of scents he associated with Greg. He smiled to himself, not hearing Brass, who had seen the whole exchange, and had come to stand beside him.

"What's funny, Gil?"

"Even in the civilized world, the male marks his claim in the same manner as in the wild." Grissom took the champagne glass Brass offered him, clinking it against the older man's, shaking his head. "You guys did a nice job with the backyard."

The detective nodded, turning his attention to the crowd, and Grissom was content to watch Nick pull Catherine to him, laughing, and spin her around. Lindsey was standing on Warrick's toes, in a fit of giggles that could only be made by a thirteen-year old girl. Behind them, at the far end of the lawn, Grissom set his gaze on Greg and Sara. The younger man bent, placing a kiss to Sara's almost flat belly before placing one against her cheek, causing her to blush, and smile. Sara flung her arms around his shoulders, and Greg picked her up, spinning her around once before setting her safely back on her feet. Despite all the commotion and activity in Catherine's backyard, Greg and Sara had found a way to filter it all out, ignoring their surroundings.

This was true happiness, in it's purest form. A song always sounds sweeter when the singer thinks there is no audience, and Greg and Sara's love was something along the lines of singing in the shower in an empty apartment.

"Damn kids are so damn happy." Brass's words broke Grissom's thoughts, making him laugh.


	16. Chapter 16

"I look fat." Sara Sanders stated matter-of-factly, standing before the full-length mirror in the bathroom of the little apartment.

"You do not." Greg kneeled over, coming to sit on the floor of the little living room like an eight year old, to tie the laces of his Converses. "Fat, no. Pregnant, yes." He winced as soon as the words left his mouth. She whipped out of the bathroom, a hand on her little bump of an abdomen.

"Oh, so I look pregnant? How pregnant do I look?" There was an edge of hormonal hysteria in her voice, and Greg silently cursed himself for speaking at all.

"That's not the point, my point was you don't look fat. You were never fat, you will never be fat." Greg double knotted his laces and remained sitting on the floor, elbows resting on his knees. "That is a decidedly pregnant bump, not a beer belly."

"I feel heavy." She turned back to the mirror, examining her new form with a scrutinizing eye, and a helpless expression. Greg rolled his eyes, lifting himself from the floor. He came to lean against the wall of the hallway, watching her frown at her pregnant belly. It wasn't even that big yet. Personally, Greg was surprised to find that he was really turned on by this whole pregnancy thing. He had found himself watching her far more than he ever did before, even all those years he pined after her wordlessly from the DNA lab. She had fallen into the habit of rubbing the bump gently when she was talking to someone, or thinking about evidence, or riding in the passenger seat, or 'helping' him make dinner on those occasional nights they had to themselves. And she was doing it now, with the lightest of touches, examining her figure in the mirror.

"I think you look good." He grinned at her when she tossed him a disbelieving look, rolling her eyes.

"It's your fault."

"Not all of it. I definitely didn't yell out my own name as my inner walls clenched tossing my husband into orgasm." He almost succeeded in getting it out with a straight face, falling into a grin, and a laugh.

"Greg! Not in front of the baby." Sara's expression shifted, from frustration to amusement in a matter of seconds. "Don't you corrupt our child."

"She can't understand me. Besides, I'm a scientist, a DNA specialist, if you will. I can discuss the natural functions of procreation all I want." She sighed, opening the door all the way, and smacking him halfheartedly before allowing him to wrap his arms around her casually. "You're not fat, Sara Jane. You're amazing."

"Greg, don't be cheesy." She pulled away from him only just, draping her arms over his shoulders. "I'm fat." Greg shook his head, and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

"No. No, see, this, this is really cool. Check it out." She smiled faintly, rolling her eyes as he bent so that her abdomen was inches from his nose.

"Gregory-"

"No, listen, this is really awesome." She arched an eyebrow at him, but let him lift the fitting work shirt up over her belly, exposing her little pregnant bump. He kissed the soft skin chastely, running his hand over her bare belly. "In here, this is you, and me." He glanced up at her, smiling broadly. "It doesn't matter if we are working different scenes, different cases, or one of us has the night off, or anything, we will always be together, a part of me and a part of you, here." He laid a hand gently against her swollen belly, and grinned at her, straightening. "I think it's incredibly sexy." He laughed at her groan, dropping soft kisses to her neck. "No, I do."

"Greg-" Her tone said she hardly believed him, and he took that as the green light to show her just what he meant. He gently backed her up against the wall of the hallway, placing a hand on either side of her so she was trapped. She could have escaped it, he was never overly forceful, but she loved it when he took control. He kissed her soundly, and her fingers tangled themselves into his shaggy brown waves instinctively.

"It means you're mine." Greg shifted, leaving a path of kisses down her neck, speaking against her skin in that soft, husky voice that always made her knees weak. "Everyone will see our little bump, and everyone will know that I love you." He felt her gently laugh as he dropped kisses along her collarbone.

"So you're just marking your territory, then, Gregory?"

"Mmhmm."

"How very Neanderthal of you." He chuckled against her, kissing her in full once again, backing her fully against the wall. "You never cared about territory before." He slid his hand over her hip and around the small of her back, feather light touch bringing a smile to her face.

"You were never carrying my baby before." He grinned at her, and the sparkle of a tear in his eye blurred her vision with her own tears. "You have to understand, Sara." He rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "Never ever, in my craziest fantasies, had I ever thought that we would be here, rings on our fingers, getting ready for a baby. I put aside the seemingly impossible to become a member of the team, ignored my feelings when you became my mentor. I'm not Nick. I don't have innate chivalrous charm, or a smile that makes women's clothes fall off." She laughed at this, his smile had made her clothes fall off plenty of times, but he kissed her, urging her to let him finish. "We all have an identity at work, and I was focusing all my energy on crawling out of the childish lab rat image that I had never cared about before. I thought, if I couldn't have you, I would at least have a reputable career."

"Gregory, you were the one of the top ranking DNA analysts in the country."

"I never said this was rational, Sara Jane." She failed miserable at suppressing a smile, and let him continue.

"I was doing so well, Sara. I had put my feelings for you behind me, left them in the lab, so to speak. I was trying really hard at my new job, and I wasn't being fired, so I must have been doing okay." He dropped his hands from beside her arms, shoving them in the pockets of his jeans. "I learned to love working with you almost as much as I loved being around you. I focused all my energy on learning, so you wouldn't think I just belonged back in the damn DNA lab. But, in proving to you that I could do it, I found that I really liked the job, I love solving the puzzles. And I was doing so well, Sara. I had even had a semi-serious relationship, and then you had to go and kiss me back. And that just sent me stumbling back into love with you in a matter of hours. By the time we got back here that night, I was that kid from the DNA lab again, head over heels with this fantasy I never thought would come true. Then I realized, I would never have to worry about finding the girl I would love second best, because you became the love of my life all over again. It was always you, Sara. Even if I had to spend my life alone. I only wanted you to be happy." Greg smiled at his wife, and she brushed away a tear threatening to fall from his eye. "Most guys make a joke about how they always placate their wives, you know, 'Yes, Dear,' and such. Warrick said that was the most important phrase to know in marriage. But I've been waiting to say it my whole life. I wanted you my whole life, and now I have you. Forgive me for my Neanderthal antics, but I just can't get over it. The ring on your finger is _my_ family heirloom, the baby in here has half _my_ DNA. Maybe it's a male thing. I don't know." Sara pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, as he snaked his around her waist.

"I'm sorry it took us this long to get here, Gregory" Greg smiled into her curly hair, and dropped a chaste kiss to her shoulder.

"Time doesn't matter. The point is, we're here." He laughed softly as he glanced at the clock. "And we have to be _there_ in twenty minutes. Get a move on, woman, shift is about to start." He grinned at her broadly, as she rolled her eyes, wiping her tears and turning back toward the bedroom to grab her shoes.

…………

"Greg and Catherine, floater out at Lake Mead. Warrick, B&E in Laughlin. I'll take the 419 off strip, and that leaves a murder-suicide for Nick and Sara." Grissom handed out the assignment slips with the addresses, and soon the team members were filing out of the break room, en route to their different destinations.

Greg picked his field vest out of his locker, and pausing at Sara's to kiss her quickly, as she rummaged around for her favorite flashlight.

"Be careful." She ruffled his hair as he bent to kiss her little pregnant bump. He grinned at her, kissing her cheek affectionately.

"Yes, Dear."


	17. Chapter 17

Sara Sanders sat at the kitchen table in her their little apartment, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried in vain to wriggle the diamond and wedding band free from her slightly swollen fingers. After several minutes of wrestling with Grandma Elsa Hojem's diamond, she stopping fighting with it, and rested her head in her hands. Of course her fingers were swollen. Her abdomen was swollen, her ankles were swollen, her whole body felt like an industrial sized waterlogged sponge that weighed far too much for her slight frame, and moved far too slow for her 34 years.

Whoever coined the term 'happy pregnancy' was obviously male.

Sara eased out of the chair at the table, abandoning her mission to remove her wedding rings before her fingers broke the delicate bands with their newfound ability to retain water and swell. Stupid fingers.

She moved to the bathroom, the corner of her mouth curling into the beginning of a smile as she remembered Greg's proposal in the shower, her staring contest with the home pregnancy test strip on the tank of the toilet, and a few of the highlights of their bubble bath foreplay that always resulted in Greg with dripping wet hair and pains in her sides from the giggles.

Her eyes settled on Greg's tattered chess team hoodie hanging on a hook beside a yellow towel. She had worn that hoodie the first time she told his she loved him. Worn it when he convinced her their love was real, worn it when they sat on the bed and planned out their wedding. Worn it when she had found out she was pregnant. That brought her thoughts back to her current self-inflicted drama. Her smile faded considerably, and she glared at her abdomen.

Sara Sanders was sick and tired of being pregnant.

Sighing, she wished Greg would get home already. She was going stir crazy with their time apart. Grissom had forced her onto a diet of half shifts a little over a month ago, at the start of her third trimester. Her due date was fast approaching, and to Sara, it couldn't come fast enough.

Space was an issue, now that there was to be three of them. Her little apartment was fine for just her, cozy, even, when Greg moved in. Now, however, she was starting to get claustrophobic. And there was still no word on the little house they had made an offer on in Henderson, making her uneasy.

Fortunately Catherine had brought over a Denali full of necessities from Lindsey's infancy, so Sara had settled restless nerves sifting through some of the contents of the boxes. The question remained, however, set up a nursery in the apartment, or hold out for a return offer the house. Today, she had chosen to hold off on nesting and wrestle with wedding bands.

She hadn't even heard the door open, or Greg call out her name, and was genuinely startled when she noticed his presence at the door of the bathroom, eyebrow cocked in an amused fashion.

"Hey." She jumped at his voice, but smiled.

"Hi." She let go of the sleeve of his hoodie that she hadn't realized she was grasping onto, and burrowed her face into her husband's shoulder. Greg wrapped his arms around his wife, the amused expression on his face turning instantly to concern.

"How old are you?" Sara wiped the moisture from her eyes and shot Greg an inquisitive look.

"You know how old I am…"

"It's just that I remember crying in the bathroom to be a phenomenon consistent with being in junior high." His hesitant smile put her to ease, and she choked out a laugh.

"Was not crying."

"What's going on?" Greg sifted his fingers soothingly through her hair, gently kissing the top of her head. He placed a hand softly to her cheek, dropping a tender, chaste kiss to her lips, and resting his forehead against hers.

"It's stupid. I'm being stupid. It's fine."

"Let's try this again." Greg smiled at his wife, amused. "How can I fix whatever is broken?" She pulled away from him slightly, and wiped her eyes again, and Greg was pleased to see a faint smile cross her face. "Sara Jane?"

"I'm just.. and with.. and even.. ugh." She shook her head, frustrated. "I can't get my wedding ring off." Greg took a step back, taking a deep breath, and slowly licking his lips before speaking. When he returned her gaze, panic flickered in his eyes.

"Don't leave me." His voice was just above a whisper, barely audible. Sara's expression softened as she realized what her grievance sounded like to her husband, whose insecurity would flash by from time to time. She pursed her lips together, ruffling his hair with one hand, before dropping it to touch his jaw line affectionately.

"Never, Gregory. Ok?" He nodded, not quite meeting her gaze. "I love you."

"I love you too." She smiled contentedly as he took a deep breath again, and bent to kiss her.

"I'm sorry. I- you just scared me there for a minute." Back was the lopsided grin and the childish sparkle in his eyes, however it didn't fully convince her. She would make it up to him later.

"What I meant was, my body has turned into a sponge, and my fingers are swollen." She held out her left hand in front of her, turning it over in examination. "I can't get my rings off." He nodded, letting out a relieved chuckle under his breath.

"Oh, that I can fix." He instructed her over to the sink, and turned on the cold water. He tested it with his own fingers, and put hers under the faucet when the water had become almost unbearably cold. "One sec." He disappeared from the bathroom, turning toward the kitchen. Why didn't she think of this? Basic chemistry. He returned with the ice cube tray from the freezer, and an old faded black velvet box, the one they had kept their rings in before the wedding. She watched him twist the nearly empty ice cube tray into the sink, and flip open the velvet box. He grinned at her, and cocked an eyebrow playfully.

"It's a chemistry thing. You physicists wouldn't understand." He pressed two of the five ice cubes against her fingers, and held them there for a few seconds. When he dropped the ice cubes, his own fingers made quick work of Grandma Elsa's diamond, and the thin gold wedding band under it. They slipped off easily, and he dropped them in the velvet box, closing it with a click.

"You're amazing." He handed her a hand towel to dry off her fingers.

"It's the properties of hydrogen and oxygen when manipulated by varying temperatures that's amazing. I'm simply doing my job as the preventer of emotional breakdowns of the extremely pregnant." He grinned at her in full, and she followed him out of the bathroom. "You know, I could be a super hero."

"Yeah, that's all you need, comic books of yourself."

"They will call me the 'Impregnator,' and I will soar about Las Vegas, manipulating the chemical properties of water to ease the pain and frustration of pregnant women everywhere." His mock seriousness made her laugh outright. He sat on the worn in couch, and pulled her gently down beside him, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she snuggled into his side. "What's the matter, love?" She heard the concern in his voice, and laid her own hand over his on her rounded belly.

"Nothing, I'm fine." Greg leaned back, stretching out his legs, yawning like a child who had had too much excitement for one day. He ran a hand lazily through her hair, playing with the ends of the wavy curls.

"Yeah, ok. I'm no expert on women, definitely no expert on pregnant women, but I'm going to do my best to translate. I would venture a bet on 'nothing' meaning 'something,' and 'I'm fine' meaning 'I'm not fine, and even though I say I'm fine, you should know that I'm not fine, and it's all your fault, because I didn't get myself pregnant by my onesies.'" He leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to her abdomen. When he looked up at her, she was hastily wiping back tears, and choking back a sob. His amused expression shifted immediately to guilty regret. "Sara, love, don't cry. I was only joking."

"I'm not crying." He arched an eyebrow at her. "Ok, I'm crying."

"How can I fix it?" He waited patiently for her to take a few deep breaths.

"I'm just tired of being pregnant. I want to wear my favorite pair of jeans, I want to sleep on my stomach. I miss wearing your old hoodie." She sniffled, childishly wiping her eyes again. "I just want to get this all over with, I want her out of me, and I want my old body back, and I-I miss-" She blinked away new tears, and smiled, laughing at herself, and crying at herself simultaneously.

"This is so stupid."

"It's not. What do you miss?"

"You'll think I'm weird."

"Um, yeah. Weird doesn't bother me." Greg smiled at her. "It was actually a prerequisite for marrying me." She returned a small smile, and he took her hand to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to her palm. "Spit it out, Sidle."

"I miss, I miss you."

"I'm right here, Sara."

"I know. But I love when you roll on top of me, it's comforting, and your body heat always makes me feel safe. I miss your weight." She paused, laying a hand to her swollen belly. "All I want is for you to lay on top of me like you used to. It makes me feel like a kid."

"Another few weeks and you won't want me anywhere near you."

"But making out on the couch and wrestling around in bed are my favorite." She was whining, she knew, but she chalked it up to these stupid pregnancy hormones.

"I solemnly vow to lie on top of you and make out on the couch whenever I possibly can after the baby is born." She shook her head, amused.

"You're mocking me, Sanders."

"Even I'm not that much of a risk taker. You know how to hide bodies much better than I do." She grinned at him, and he kissed her soundly. He sat back against the back of the couch, and wrapped his arms around her once more.

"How did the interrogations go?" She asked, changing the subject as she settled back into his arms.

"Fine. We cornered him with evidence, he really had no option other than to confess, which was fortunately what he ended up doing." She was about to answer him, and their landline rang. Greg reached over to the end table that held the cordless phone, and answered it on the third ring.

"Greg and Sara Sanders." His eyes flashed wide, and he glanced at Sara excitedly. "Yes. Mmhmm." Pause. "That's what we had originally said. Uh huh." He stood up, and ran a hand through his halfway curly hair.

"Is that the realtor?" Sara sat up, but he was listening to whoever was on the other end. He was grinning childishly, and his eyes seemed to sparkle like they did after their first kiss, despite the far away look on his face.

"Of course. Yes. Sooner rather than later." Pause. "Mmhmm. Ha, yeah. Ok. Thank you. We'll be right down. Alright. Yup, bye." Greg pressed the hang up button, and tossed the phone onto the couch, grinning at his wife.

"So you and I need to make a trip to the DMV." He tone was casual, but he was bursting at the seams.

"Why on earth would we need to go there?" Sara winced as the baby kicked, and crinkled her brow in utter confusion.

"Well, we need to file for change of address." He grinned widely and closed the distance between them, sitting again beside her, cocking his head to the side. "You sure you're the one who's a level 3?" He lay a soothing hand on her belly, feeling the baby kick. Realization dawned on her features.

"That was the realtor."

"That was the realtor."

"We got the house?"

"We got the house." She was surprised to see Greg's eyes welling up with a few tears. "Your powers of deduction never cease to amaze me, Sara Jane." She pulled him toward her, and he caught her in a gentle kiss, leaving the rest of the world momentarily forgotten. She pulled away, and wiped the tear from Greg's eye with her thumb. _This_ was happy pregnancy. Happy indeed.


	18. Chapter 18

"Whoa." Sara sat up in bed, gripping her very pregnant belly. She winced as what she concluded as a contraction gripped her body, trying to remember what Catherine and Mia had told her. Breathe steady. Don't move too quickly. She turned to face Greg's sleeping form beside her as the pain subsided, and immediately decided not to disturb him. The poor man had just come to bed, after pulling a triple on a high profile double homicide. Sara eased back down against her pillow. She could handle this, besides, labor takes hours. It would probably be best to at least let Greg sleep until they started coming closer together. She reached over to the nightstand, and fumbled around until her fingers found the bottle of Motrin. Swallowing two tablets, she settled back in. They worked on period pain; maybe they would work on labor pain. At least until Greg got a few hours of sleep.

Four hours later, Sara was convinced she was in labor. No longer able to rest comfortably in bed, she climbed out, careful not to wake Greg, who was peacefully sleeping, looking more like a little boy than a grown man. She stood slowly, resting a hand on her abdomen, and made her way to the living room to check that her hospital bag was ready to go. Gripping the doorjamb of the bathroom for support as another contraction took hold, she caught sight of the duffel bag by the door that Greg had packed a week ago. Draped over the top, as if it was an afterthought, was his tattered old hoodie. She grinned at the sight, slowly making her way to the bag to double check it's contents for herself.

Satisfied that everything she needed for the rest of the labor and the hospital stay was in the bag, Sara moved slowly to the kitchen. She lost count of contractions, and had stopped paying attention to the minutes between them. Holding on to the counter for support, she let out a long breath, shaking off the lingering pressure. She made her way to the coffee maker, pulling out the stash of caffeinated stuff that Greg had hid from her earlier that week. She set about brewing it, pausing when a contraction took hold.

"Oh, now, wait a minute. Daddy needs a few more minutes of sleep before we can wake him up. You are just going to have to hold on in there for a little while." Sara rubbed her belly soothingly, cringing as another contraction seared through her. The coffee finished brewing, and she reached over, first grabbing a mug, then pushing past it and pulling out a travel mug instead. They were definitely getting really close together. Sighing at the prospect of having to wake Greg after a 36-hour shift, she capped the travel mug with steaming black coffee, and slowly made her way to the bedroom. Her fingers touched the walls of the hallway as she weathered another contraction.

"Alright. I'm waking Daddy up." She made her way over to Greg's side of the bed, reaching out to touch him gently. "Greg."

"Mmmpht."

"Greg."

"No, love, tell Gris I can't come in." She smiled warily at him, running her fingers through his hair.

"Greg."

"Mmmsleepin." He burrowed away from her touch into the pillow.

"Greg." Her voice was gentle and soft, the whole situation amused her to no end. "Gregory, the baby's coming." He rolled over, childishly wiping his hands across his face, and stared at her, wide eyed. She gripped the edge of the mattress as a wave of blinding hot pain hit her. Instantly, Greg was out of bed, and holding her.

"Really? Now?" She nodded, but shook off his touch.

"I'm sorry, Greg, I know you're tired." He was throwing on jeans and sneakers, pulling a tee shirt over his slight frame, leading her out of the bedroom in a matter of thirty seconds.

"Was that the first contraction?" His hand held hers, the other on the small of her back as she eased back down the hallway.

"No, they started getting really close in the last half hour." He grabbed the keys to his Denali out of the bowl, and bent to pick up the duffel bag, shooting her a disbelieving look.

"Why didn't you wake me up? Sara, what were you thinking?" He opened the door to the apartment, ushering her out, shutting it firmly behind them.

"You had pulled a triple, and labor takes forever to get started. I wanted you to have a few hours of sleep." They reached the Denali in the span of only two contractions, and she handed him the travel mug with the Harvard insignia on it. "I made you real coffee." He smiled at her, helping her into the car, climbing into the driver's seat.

"You were in the middle of labor, and you made me real coffee?" Greg turned the key, and pulled out onto the street.

"Well, the caffeine is the point, Greg." He laughed, reaching across the console to touch her belly.

"Thank you." He stopped at a red light, sighing in frustration. Sara bit her lip, gripping his fingers as another contraction hit her. She exhaled slowly once the pain subsided, resting her head against the back of the passenger seat. "I can turn on the police lights, if we are cutting it too close." She tossed him a smirk, and shook her head.

"No it's ok."

"Did you call the doctor?"

"Not yet." She ran a hand over her abdomen as Greg pulled out his cell phone, and they started to move with traffic again. After a few rings, he was put through to maternity.

"Hi, this is Greg Sanders, my wife Sara is having contractions about six minutes apart." Pause. "Yeah, Jan Hart." Pause. "About ten minutes out. Ok. Thanks." Greg flipped the phone shut, and dropped it in his pocket, turning on to another the next road. "How are you feeling?" Greg reached for the cup holder, and took a long drink of coffee.

"Sore." Sara took a few deep breaths, fighting off the almost paralyzing pressure of another contraction. "I'm ok."

A nurse from OB/GYN was waiting at the door ready to usher Sara to Maternity. She initially refused the wheelchair, but one look from Greg, and she eased herself into the seat before she was hit with another contraction. The nurse settled them into a quiet room, and excused herself to notify Dr. Hart of their arrival. Greg thanked the nurse, and as soon as she was gone, he turned to Sara, grinning excitedly. He leaned over, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"The baby's coming! This is incredible." Sara smiled at his excitement, pursing her lips in pain as another contraction hit. She closed her eyes, trying to ward off the pain, and felt his fingers run through her hair gently, the palm of his other hand soothingly rubbing her thigh. "You're going to do great, Sara Jane." When she looked back up at him, he had tears welling in his eyes, and a lopsided grin across his face. His eye gave him away, she could see worry and concern and fear and hints of excitement, and beneath all of that, there surfaced a brand of unconditional love he had spoiled her with since the day they met. She sat back against the pillows on the hospital bed, and accepted the kiss he dropped chastely on her lips, before smacking him in the stomach.

"Don't you get sappy on me, Gregory. I'm not going to cry." Moisture on her cheeks would argue otherwise, however, and she grinned at him as he chocked out a laugh.

"Mrs. Sanders?" Dr. Hart, an older woman with wild graying curls, walked into the room, glancing up from a chart, and closing the door behind her smiling. Greg turned toward her, watching as the older woman made her way to Sara, checking the monitor that the nurse had hooked her up to. "How are we doing?"

"I'm ok, starting to get really uncomfortable." Dr. Hart nodded, and smiled.

"We'll see what we can do about that." She turned her attention toward Greg, extending a hand, smiling. "You must be Dad."

"Yeah, Greg." Greg shook the doctor's hand, before she focused back on Sara.

"Not to worry, Sara, you're going to do fine. Let's see how far along you are, shall we?" Sara nodded, grasping Greg's hand tightly, and Dr. Hart settled down at the business end of the bed.

………

Two more hours found them slowly walking up and down the hall, in a last ditch effort to dilate the last centimeter. Sara had pushed away the epidural once she saw the size of the needle, an hour and a half ago. Greg walked slowly along beside her, arm wrapped around to the small of her back. She stopped abruptly, gripping his arms for support.

"Whoa." She rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes, as the contraction shot through her abdomen, settling a heavy explosion of pressure in her hips. Greg's heart broke as he watched her suffer the contraction, she was valiantly attempting to hide the pain in her expression of determination and concentration, but she was losing that battle slowly. Greg ran a hand along her shoulders and back, as she shifted to rest her head in the crook of his neck, an arm around his waist to steady herself. Greg pressed a kiss to her shoulder, feeling her inhale deeply against him.

"Bad one?" She let out the breath, slowly standing upright, to face him. She hastily wiped her eyes, falling short of hiding tears from him, as she nodded.

"I'm sorry, Greg." She reached up to touch the stubble along his jaw, pushing aside a scraggly curl from his forehead.

"Hey, hey, there's nothing to be sorry for. I promised you I would always be by your side. And we're having a baby. It's physically impossible to get me away from you." He placed a delicate kiss to her forehead, and she gave him a small smile. "How long until the next contraction, roughly?" She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Minute and a half, two minutes." Her smile widened as he nodded, business-like, and bent to catch her in a kiss.

…………

"Get away from me." Sara shrugged off Greg's hand on her arm.

"Push on the next contraction, Sara." Dr. Hart's instruction came from the other end of the bed. "You're almost there."

"Greg!" The edge in Sara's voice had a desperate, pleading quality that sounded as if she was going to break down in tears. Greg took her hand, and ran his fingers through her mangled curls.

"I'm right here, you're almost done, love." Greg bit his lip as she tightened her grip on his hand, concentration all over her face.

"Keep pushing, Sara, you're doing great. The head's out." Sara winced as she felt Dr. Hart work at guiding the baby the rest of the way out. "Dad, want a peek?" Greg kissed Sara's hand, and peered over her knee, at his child being born into Dr. Hart's hands. Immediately he knew that it had been a bad idea. He had caught a glimpse of the shoulders coming out, and not that he had a problem with blood, his work had centered around blood for years, but the sight of Sara's blood, and that much of it, made him a bit light headed. He turned back to his wife, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"She's perfect. She's got lots of blonde hair." Sara arched an eyebrow at him.

"You," she breathed heavily, "don't know it's a girl." Determination set in, and Sara gave one last push, per Dr. Hart's instructions.

"That's it! It's a girl!" There was a moment of silence, and panic stung though both Greg and Sara. Finally, a tiny wail came from Dr. Hart's arms. She placed the wriggling newborn on Sara's stomach, after wiping away fluids, and handed Sara a little blanket.

"Oh, Greg." Neither Greg nor Sara attempted to stop their tears, as Sara shifted upright, holding their baby. "Hello. We're so glad you joined us." Sara leaned over, pressing a gently kiss to the screaming, wriggling baby's head. Sara looked up at Greg, grinning widely. He kissed her, then turned his attention to the baby in her arms. Greg held out a finger against her tiny hand, and after a few moments, the baby grasped his finger tightly, still crying. Greg sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over to kiss his daughter.

"Hello little princess." Sara leaned into him, and they sat, marveling at the squirming newborn in Sara's arms. Greg glanced down at her feet, counting, and then at her hands, counting. "Ten fingers and ten toes."

"She's beautiful."

"She got a name?" One of the nurses stood on Sara's other side, pen ready to fill out the birth certificate. Greg tore his eyes away from his tiny daughter, and grinned at the nurse.

"Yeah, Eleanora Rosalind Sanders."

"Nora." Sara whispered, bringing tears to Greg's eyes. "We're calling her Nora."


	19. Chapter 19

"So what to we do with her now?" Greg peered over the side of the basinet as Sara placed their tiny little newborn among the soft linens.

"How should I know?" They stood on either side of the basinet, and watched as Nora yawned, squeezing her eyes shut, and curling her little fingers into fists, quickly falling back asleep as Sara laid a thin blanket around her.

"You _always_ know stuff."

"About forensics, Greg. I don't know anything about this."

"It can't be hard. People do it all the time."

"Did you read that book?"

"I thought you did."

"Alright, so no one read the book."

"Again. What do we do?"

"There's nothing to do, Gregory." He sighed, unable to refrain from grinning childishly at their tiny baby, finally here, finally home.

"Is it weird that our last night in this apartment is her first night home?" Greg smiled tenderly at his wife, leaning over the basinet to catch her in a gentle kiss.

"I wanted to be moved into the house before the baby came."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. You weren't the one pushing your way out of my body ten days early." He glanced at her, a suggestive smirk across his face as she adjusting the blanket around Nora's little feet. She caught the glint in his eye and sighed, wincing as she straightened.

"You alright?" He held out a hand to her, and she took it, letting him pull her against him gently in a closeness that had been missing for the last six months. He wrapped his arms around her loosely, careful of her sore abdomen. She nodded, laying her arms across his shoulders and hugging him companionably. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo, and a trace of the baby scent that had invaded his every atom as soon as Nora had been born. He felt her sigh against his tee shirt, and he leaned down gently to kiss her.

"Let's get some sleep while she does." Sara made her way around the basinet, and threaded her fingers through his, pulling him along with her the few feet to the bed. He let her settle down amid the covers before joining her, slipping in, and drawing her body delicately against his own, pressing a kiss to her neck, and laying an arm carefully around her middle. He had been waiting six months to hold her like this, and he smiled into her curls as she relaxed against him. He listened to her chuckle softly as he dropped kisses along her neck and shoulder.

"Dr. Hart said we can't do that for a few weeks, Gregory."

"Can't a man hug his wife?" His whispers were soft, and his tone was joking, but he loosened his already gentle hold on her instantly, afraid of hurting her. She snuggled against him, tangling her fingers with his own reassuringly.

"I won't break." He pulled her closer, finding that having her against him like this had him fighting off several unmentionable scenarios.

"Thank you." He mumbled into her hair, and she smiled at his breath against her neck.

"For what?"

"For all my dreams come true, Sara Jane." Her weary smile broadened to a grin, and she turned in his arms, coming to face him, her head resting against the pillow beside his.

"I love you." His eyes flickered to her lips, and he shifted, pressing a gentle, slow, deepened kiss to her mouth. His fingers asked permission, barely touching her thigh, bringing her closer to him. She shifted against him, ignoring the uncomfortable sore of her abdomen in favor of the comfortable, loving flash of heat where his fingers touched her skin.

He was handling her as if she would shatter at any moment, probably because they were a ways away from emerging from the post-partum phase, at least a month away from resuming their routine of extra-curricular activities. Dr. Hart had said that they could have sex again whenever Sara felt that she was ready, but to wait at least until her next appointment, three weeks away.

He paid meticulous attention to their kiss, gently taking her bottom lip between both of his, tangling his tongue with hers lovingly. She moaned softly against him, and he pulled her instinctively toward him, the palm of his hand sliding from her thigh to her waist.

She winced, she couldn't help it, and he pulled away instantly, loosening his grip immediately, and giving her a concerned look.

"I'm so sorry, oh God, are you okay?" He missed the faint smile on her lips as he went into his 'EMT' mode, pulling away from her completely, and lifting up the blankets, glancing up and down her body, presumably checking for any outward signs of her sore dull pain. He turned back to her at her soft chuckle, and his concerned frown turned to a tiny smile. "I'm a jerk, I'm sorry. You just gave birth and here I am feeling you up." She rolled her eyes at him, and he lay back down, pulling her ever so carefully into his arms again. They lay there, content with each other's presence, and the soft breathing of the tiny newborn in the basinet a few feet form the end of the bed. They lay in silence for several minutes, Sara relaxing into Greg's arms, and Greg slowly dozing off to sleep.

"I'm sorry, Greg."

"What? Why?" He pulled back to catch her eye, and she smiled sadly at him, rolling over onto her back, facing him as he propped himself up on an elbow.

"We hadn't gone more than 48 hours without being intimate since our first kiss, and it'll be another two months before I completely heal, and it's already been more than four since the last time." She pursed her lips, giving him an apologetic look.

"Sara, love, we have the rest of our lives to sleep together. I don't want to hurt you, I just want to be near you." She smiled, and he dropped a kiss sweetly to her lips. He lay back down, and she curled into him gently, leaving more space between them than she usually would. He curled his arm around her shoulders, and she settled against him lightly.

"Are you happy?" Her voice came out as a mumble, against his tee shirt. Before he got a chance to answer, Nora began to cry softly. He kissed Sara's forehead, and slipped out from her hold, making his way over to the basinet and carefully lifting his tiny baby daughter out form the blankets. Sara shifted, sitting up against the headboard of the bed, and waited for Greg to hand her the baby. He cradled her in both of his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Now I know you're new to this and everything, but your mother and I were having a moment." Greg sat down and shifted over to Sara's side. Nora let out a wail, and Greg brushed his finger against her little fist, prompting her to grasp onto it tightly. Greg sat back against the headboard, and Sara leaned against him, touching Nora's little head of curly blonde hair. She settled down in Greg's arms, and her crying wound down to a soft whimper in a matter of minutes. Sara watched Greg as he held their daughter, and smiled as he grinned at the little newborn. "Hey, Sara Jane?"

"Mmhmm."

"Would you be mad at me if I told you I've fallen in love with a younger woman?" Greg turned from Nora in his arms, to his wife. Sara laughed softly, and kissed his shoulder.

"Just as long as it's this one." Greg laughed, and leaned over, catching her in a soft kiss. "I'm glad she's finally here."

"I'm glad she's home." Greg handed Nora to Sara as she began to whimper again, and Sara coddled her gently, rocking her back to sleep. He watched her shift Nora gently, and he found himself tumbling into love all over again, completely in awe of the woman beside him. Sara looked up at him from the newborn sleeping in her arms, and caught Greg watching her intently, almost as if he was examining a piece of evidence.

"Greg?"

He must have been staring.

"I was just thinking."

"About."

"It's real."

"What is?"

"Everything. You. Me. The baby. Our life. There's no escaping now. There's no turning back."

"Did you ever want to escape?" There was laughter in her voice, but her features were serious.

"Never. Never ever." He kissed her again, before turning his attention to Nora. "She's beautiful."

"She looks like this guy I slept with."

"Do I know him?"

"Just some Level One." He grinned at her humor, brushing his lips against hers again. "Brilliant. Science geek. Norwegian."

"I love you." She returned his smile, and leaned against him.

"I love you, too."


	20. Chapter 20

Greg truly had begun to treasure his nights off. Work in the lab and out in the field wasn't the same without Sara, and she wouldn't return from maternity leave for another three weeks. Work felt, well, lonely. He had gotten used to working cases with his wife, they had been partnered since the beginning of his training. He could honestly say, that he had only worked 4 scenes without her in his entire career, prior to her leave with Nora.

That was the other thing. His heart ached to be home with his new baby daughter, not out here trying to catch criminal scum. At first he tried to rationalize going back to work… Sara was more qualified than him, and she was home with the baby… Nora was fine. Besides, it became his mission in life to protect his precious child from the evils on the streets of Las Vegas by listening to their evidence and locking them up, one by one.

Yeah. That worked on the first shift.

Now, however, all he wanted to do was go home and hold his baby girl and kiss his wife. Stupid criminals leaving dead bodies all over Vegas. On his shift. The good thing about having to pair up with Nick, like tonight, was that Nick let him drive. But even manning the wheel of the sleek department issue Denali wasn't cheering him up tonight. Greg felt like whining and stamping his feet, all he wanted to do was go home and be with his family.

His family. He glanced down at the gold band on his left hand, and, despite his inner temper-tantrum mood, couldn't help but grin childishly. He had a family. They had a family. He had a wife, and a baby, and a little house in Henderson, and they didn't have a puppy, but they had a fence, and it wasn't painted, and it was only around the backyard, but they had it. Never had he thought that they would have gotten this far. And he certainly never fantasized anything as amazing as how his life had actually turned out.

He pulled into the lab parking lot, and he and Nick climbed out, gathering their kits and vests from the backseat, and shuffling in to toss their stuff in their respective lockers, and head home. He handed Nick the mountain of paperwork they had organized at the station with Brass.

"You out?" Nick took the file, ready to hand in to Grissom.

"Yeah. Can't wait to get home. Sara sounded tired when I called her waiting for Hodges to get over himself and process the damn paint chips." Greg shrugged on his jacket, and glanced at the window of the locker room, squinting at the first few rays of sunshine peeking over the ledge. Nick laughed softly, grabbing the keys to the drying room.

"How's my little Nora Rose?"

"Sara said she was really good, went right to sleep only a few minutes before I called." Nick smiled at his friend, finding the well-known fact that the man could not go more than four hours without talking to his wife ridiculously funny.

"Well, give her a kiss for me."

"I will. You heading out?" Greg bent and lifted his bag of paperwork over his shoulder.

"Nah. Got some cold files to sift through. Have a good night off, Greg. You need it."

…………

A half hour later, Greg opened the front door at 27 Harris Street quietly, in case Nora was sleeping. He stripped off his jacket, and tossed his keys into the bowl beside the door, pushing his bag off his shoulder and dropping it with a thud on the floor beside his feet. He wandered through the living room, kicking off his shoes, and leaving them there.

Sara had obviously made good use of Nora's nap, and had hung up most of the photos that had once stood on the makeshift 'mantle' at her apartment. The boxes that were marked 'Lindsay's Room' in Catherine's script were gone too, he assumed she had finished unpacking some of the hand me downs from Catherine.

"Sara?"

"Here." He heard her soft voice from the dining room down the hall. He turned toward the doorway to the dining room, and smiled broadly when he saw her step out into the hallway. "Hi! How was work-" Greg pulled her into his arms, and held her tightly, cutting off her greeting. When he let his grip loosen, she pulled back from him with concerned eyes. She placed a palm lightly against the side of his unshaven face, and frowned. "What's the matter, Greg?"

"Nothing, nothing. I'm just tired. I missed you. I hate working without you. I missed Nora." He smiled tiredly at her, and kissed her forehead. "Nick said he'd stop by Thursday night to see Nora, Catherine said that Lindsay is psyched to baby sit when we are ready for dinner and a movie, and Grissom said he'd call you tomorrow." Greg ticked off the list of messages to his wife in a concentrated manner.

"Thanks."

"Of course. You were busy." He opened his arms, and she snuggled into his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist as his lay across her shoulders. "You dismantled our mantle." Her soft chuckle into his sweater, and he smiled, pressing a kiss to her curly hair. He could never get tired of the sound of her laugh, no matter how tired he was from everything else.

"Did not. It's just creatively reorganized. I believe you were the one who did the actual dismantling of the mantle…you packed that box, if I remember correctly."

"Mmm."

"I finished Nora's room, as well. Warrick was here earlier, with Tina. She hadn't seen the baby yet. He helped me move your couch into the baby's room. There is no way that ugly thing was going in the living room. D'you want tea?" She smiled up at him, brushing curls out of his eyes.

"Yeah, sounds good. I'm just going to say hello to Nora." He smiled at her, and she brushed past him, back down the hall to the kitchen.

"Don't wake her up." He rolled his eyes at her back, and made his way further down the hall in the opposite direction from her. He silently opened the next door, and quietly entered Nora's room. He glanced back up the hall toward the muffled noises of the kettle being filled in the kitchen before entering his daughter's room and clicking the door shut behind him. Sunshine had started to filter in through the window, clothed in pale yellow curtains from his sister. Movement and soft baby noises from the little crib caught his attention, and he smiled broadly, quickly closing the distance between himself and Nora.

"Good morning sunshine." He leaned on the side of the crib, resting his head on an arm, dangling his fingers a few inches before hers. He grinned childishly at his daughter, stunned at how beautiful she had become, in the twelve hours he had been away from her. "Momma thinks you're asleep. Yeah. You're not asleep." He laughed quietly as she brushed his finger, latching onto it with her own tiny hand. "Uncle Nicky says hello." Nora gurgled pleasantly, wiggling, and cooing at her father. Greg straightened, leaning over the side of the crib to lift her from the bedding. "Momma's gonna scold me, say you have me wrapped around your finger." He cradled the baby in his arms gently, placing a kiss to her head of curly blonde hair. She kicked her feet a few times, and he watched as her eyes darted around the ceiling before making eye contact with him.

"How 'bout you and I catch up on the last half a day while Momma makes tea, huh?" He patted her diapered bottom, and made his way to his couch, settling down on it. He held her securely with one arm, as he moved a throw pillow to the armrest, laying back, propping his head up on the pillow. He laid Nora on his chest, holding her steady with his clasped hands loosely over her back. He kissed her head one more time, and grinned at the agreeable baby softly kicking his stomach.

"So I had a long night, lots of bad guys, but I put them in jail for you, so you can be safe." He closed his eyes, intent on resting for only a minute. He had to place his little Rosebud back in her crib before Sara was finished with the tea. "Oh Nora Rose. How I love you." He rubbed his thumb along her tiny back, in a soothing motion. "Eleanora Rosalind Sanders. That's an awful long name for such a little baby. I think you'll handle it well, though. You come from solid stock." He kissed her curly hair one last time, and settled into the couch, drifting off to sleep, exhausted from shift.

"Gregory." Greg felt a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him out of sleep. He winced; the sunshine had made its way to his eyes. He looked up to see Sara standing over him, an amused smirk across her features.

"Mmm. Sorry, I fell asleep." He shifted to sit upright on the couch, making room for her to sit beside him. He cradled Nora in one arm, accepting a mug of herbal tea from Sara. She curled up to his side, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, taking a sip from her own mug, and slipping her arm into his.

"I told you not to wake her up."

"I found her like that, I promise. It's like she knows when I come home." Greg grinned at Sara before taking a sip of the warm tea and turning his attention to their baby. Sara watched him as he became completely enamored with her every movement, her every gurgle. She sighed, rolling her eyes at him.

"Fathers and daughters." She whispered, and he tore his gaze away from the little baby in his arm for a moment to grin at her, and drop a chaste kiss to her lips.

"She fascinates me, Sara. She's you, and she's me, and she's both of us together, and out of that, she's her own little person. She's perfect."

"She's perfect because she's everything both of us could ever want, more than either of us could ever wish for, and she's ours."


	21. Chapter 21

"Haw."

"Haw Haw."

"Haw Jess."

"What?" Hodges glanced up at Nora, she had been calling his name incessantly, in her toddlerspeak. She giggled, grinning up at him from where she sat in the playpen, and he rolled his eyes. "Don't listen to your Dad when he tells you to get on my nerves."

"Up." Nora extended her hands toward him, a ridiculously cute smirk that she could have only gotten from Greg on her face. To be honest, he didn't mind her soft gurgling, and he rather liked her company, even when she had learned to speak a few words in the past few months. He had been skeptical of liking anything that shared DNA with Greg, but his soft spot for Sara had carried over to their child.

"Busy."

"Bih zee."

"Everyone is very busy, that's why you're here with me."

"Haw Jess."

"Nora." He arched an eyebrow, glancing up at her, and smiled when he saw that she had pulled herself up, and was standing against the side of the playpen. He turned his attention back to the samples from Grissom's case in front of him, listening to her soft gurglings and toddler musings. Greg, walking by on his way to the garage, ducked his head in the Trace lab.

"Hey, how are the swabs from the coffee table coming? Hi Rosebud." Greg grinned at Nora as she whipped around at the sound of his voice.

"Dahdee!"

"They're next on my list after the paint transfer on the ladder from Grissom's case. I'll page you."

"Thanks." Greg bent and picked Nora up, pressing a kiss to her chubby little baby cheek. "Is she okay in here?"

"Why does everyone ask that? I actually rather enjoy her company." Hodges leaned over the counter, reaching for a bottle of saline. "Despite the alleles she shares with you." Greg grinned, chuckling as he set Nora back down in the playpen with a kiss to her curly blonde hair.

"Well, no one's perfect." He picked up Sara's results, that Hodges had compiled just before starting on Grissom's swab sample. "I'll bring this to Sara for you."

"Sure, thanks." Hodges didn't look up as Greg waved to Nora, and left the Trace lab.

"Haw Jess."

"Mmhmm."

"Bih zee."

"You can't even tell you have half Greg's DNA." His deadpan joke was lost on the fourteen month old, and he sighed, smiling at her. "It's a good thing you're half Sidle."

"Haff. Haw Jess."

"Say 'Dave.'"

"Haw Jess." He listened to the rustling and movement in the playpen as he typed in the commands for analyzing a sample. He turned to check and make sure she wasn't climbing out of the playpen, and instantly, his eyes grew wide. "Oh God." He quickly stowed away the trace elements on the bottom step of a ladder he was processing for Grissom and plucked Nora from the playpen. He went running through the halls of the lab, carrying Nora, desperately searching for either Sanders CSI.

"Nora, we have to find Mom or Daddy, Which case were they working on? Where did they go? Greg was just here."

"Haw Jess." Nora giggled, swatting at Hodges' shoulder.

"Wait, Nora, Sara was working in the garage, right? She brought us samples from the Miata."

"Oookay." Hodges cracked a smile, and entered the garage, finally setting eyes on Sara Sanders, climbing over the trunk of the Miata from the double homicide she was working, making her way to Greg Sanders, handing her the trace results.

"Sara." Hodges burst through the doors, trying to catch his breath. Sara whipped around at the sound of her name, and grinned broadly when she saw Hodges holding Nora.

"Hey Hodges. Is she being a pain? Archie said he'd take her, he has fourteen hours of surveillance footage in front of him." She hopped off the back of the car and smiled at her daughter, who wriggled about in Hodges' arms, delighted to see her mother.

"Maaaa!"

"Don't move. Watch this." Hodges set Nora down on her feet, and let the child steady herself, gripping his index fingers with her whole hands. He glanced at Greg, whose eyes had grown wide, and a hand had flown to his mouth.

"Hodges, what-"

"Watch. Stand right there." He bent over to Nora. "Nora Rose, go see Mommy."

"Maaaa." Nora took a few, cautious, wavering steps, and Hodges let go, as Nora stepped away from his hold.

"Oh God." Sara knelt, tears springing up in her eyes. "Nora, honey, come here." Hodges smiled, placing his hands on his hips, watching Nora's waddling little body pick up speed, almost stumbling over her own little feet as she grinned at Sara, and finally, reached her, falling forward into Sara's waiting arms. Sara scooped the toddler up in her arms, and kissed her, making Nora giggle and squirm.

"Maaaa!"

"Gregory, she _walked_." The awe in Sara's voice squeezed Hodges heart, and he made no motion to poke fun at the tear that was falling down Greg's cheek slowly.

"I-I saw, love." He grinned at Nora, taking her from Sara when she leaned over towards him, arms outstretched. "I just saw you, not walking. Did Hodges teach you that?" Nora took a first full of Greg's hair, and pulled gently.

"Haw Jess."


	22. Chapter 22

Greg Sanders buttoned his tux shirt, standing in front of the tiny mirror above Sara's dresser in her bedroom. He grinned at his reflection, and turned to the box in front of him, carefully extracting the cufflinks, and slipping them through the holes in the fabric at his wrists.

"Greg? Have you seen my shoes?" Sara's voice carried from the bathroom down the hall, where she had been applying a trace amount of make up. Shoes, he had seen them somewhere…

"By the couch." He called back, stepping back to sit on the bed, and put his own shoes on.

"Oh! Wow I'm blind today. Thanks." She had located her shoes, and by the clicking of the heels on the hardwood floor, was walking down the hall to the bedroom.

Sara had stopped at the doorway of the bedroom, intent on investigating whether or not her heels were too high, but the sight of Greg doubled over, tying his shoes, in a crisp, freshly pressed tuxedo stooped her feet, and stole her vocabulary. He looked up at the silence of her footfalls, and squinted up at her as he tightened his shoelace. His eyes widened, and his jaw sank, as he stared at her, standing in the doorjamb with a similar expression on her face.

"Good God. I'd forgotten that you clean up well." Sara let a smile twitch across her lips.

"You're beautiful." He whispered, unable to move. The simple black dress she wore hung gracefully over the curves of her hips, hugging the swell of her breasts and the smooth plane of her stomach. She grinned, shifting her weight to a more suggestive position as he let his eyes roam over her curves, softened by the toddler in the other room. "Sara Jane." He raised his gaze to her eyes, tumbling into love with her all over again, as she ran a hand through her coppery brown curls, and smiled broadly at him, the mischievous glint in her eye he worked so hard to influence making it's way to the surface.

"Gregory."

"You look astounding." He reached out for her with one hand, and she entered the bedroom, coming to stand beside him. He smiled genuinely at her, and rotated is index finger in a circular motion. She turned around once in a circle, giving him 360 degrees of the little black dress that had only left her closet a handful of times since her graduation from Harvard.

"Whoa."

"That a technical term, Mr. Sanders?"

"Um."

"You've seen this before, I've had this for years Greg."

"I. I just, I love that dress. I didn't know you were going to wear that dress. And now that I know, and you've taken it out of it's hiding spot which is, by the way, a horrible injustice to both your body and this dress, all I want to do is take you back out of it again." He reached out for her, and she took his hand as he stood from the bed. He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, and smiled into her shoulder like a kid who won the biggest prize at the arcade. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as his crept around her hips. Sara leaned into Greg's frame gently, and they stood there in the bedroom, in a comfortable embrace.

"You smell nice, Gregory."

"Soap, shampoo, and deodorant."

"It suits you."

"Simple hygiene."

"A side effect of the scent it creates."

"You're crazy."

"A side effect of being married to you."

"You like it."

"Obviously."

"Do we have time?"

"Anna is here, and Nora's sleeping."

"So no."

"We are supposed to be at the hall in a half hour. Absolutely not."

"Damn."

"Waiting will make it better later on."

"Still crazy."

"I just did my make up, Greg."

"I can be fast."

"Ha! Fast is not how I would describe you." Sara laughed, leaning her forehead against his. "Anything but."

"Still, you like it."

"Indeed." She stepped back, out of his touch, and paused at the doorjamb. "Greg, we have to leave. I want to be there on time." The humor hadn't left her expression as she turned to walk down the hallway. He grabbed his jacket and followed her out, both of them bidding goodbye to Anna Finch, the teenager who lived across the street, who had settled herself down on the couch with the baby monitor in one hand, and the remote in the other.

………

Greg pulled up outside the reception hall of one of Sam Braun's hotels. The LVPD was holding it's annual awards and recognitions banquet, and both Brass and Nick were receiving awards. The invitation had said black tie, and Sara was relieved to easily spot Nick and Warrick standing in a corner, engrossed in conversation. Greg felt Sara slip her hand into his as they closed the distance.

Greg accepted a handshake from Warrick, and Sara a kiss on her cheek from Nick, and the four CSIs talked amongst themselves, waiting for the MC to tell them to take their seats to begin the ceremonies. Warrick got Greg going on a rant about some video game the two were having trouble beating, and Nick had spun Sara slowly, fully appreciating the dress that no one had ever seen her wear. Greg's hand found Sara's again, despite their separate conversations, and his fingers locked in a tangle with hers, resting on her hip.

Finally time for the ceremonies to begin, the nightshift was seated at a small table off to the side. Sara pulled Greg's hand into her lap, holding his fingers with both of her hands. They listened to a dozen or so police officers and detectives give speeches, Brass among them.

They called Nick's name, he was receiving recognition for a series of covert operations in which he assisted police officers by being first bait, then a decoy, then finally the leverage in a drop off, much to Grissom's hesitancy. Greg had started to fidget, listening to Rory Atwater commend CSI Stokes on his courageousness and slick dialogue with the suspect in a high profile kidnapping/homicide case. His thoughts strayed to Nora, and he wondered vaguely if the seventeen year old was taking good enough care of his child. He rubbed his thumb along one of Sara's fingers absentmindedly, keenly aware of the sliver of a cell phone in his pocket. Leaving Nora with Anna Finch wasn't an uncommon thing for them to do, but Greg had just worked two triples, barely seeing his daughter in her waking hours in a week and a half. Seeing Sara dressed up was exciting, but eating dinner on the couch in his sweatpants with his three year old, at this point sounded much better.

He smiled, marveling at how fast their lives had become about Cheerios and Sesame Street.

Sara's gentle squeeze on his hand brought him back to the awards night, and he leaned toward her to catch her whispered comment.

"She's fine, Greg." He gave his wife a small smile, and glanced around to Warrick on her right, and Catherine on his left, noting that everyone else was paying polite attention to Atwater and his droning.

"I know. I worry."

"Relax."

"I can't Sara, all of LVPD is in this room, and no one is out patrolling the city." He missed her rolling her eyes at him, and her soft smile, as she was amused at his restlessness. She crossed one leg over the other, so that her foot hooked itself around his calf, and the gentle rub of her foot against his leg seemed to lull him slightly, and he visibly relaxed. Atwater had moved on to the officers that had gone above and beyond a few minutes later, and Sara felt her cell phone vibrate in her purse against the leg of the chair. She reached down and picked it out of her purse, glancing at the screen.

She tapped Greg on the shoulder, showing him the text message on the phone:

"NORA FINE. MR. S NO WORRY- HAVE GOOD TIME."

She silently arched a graceful eyebrow at him, and he smiled.

"You told her to text you part way through the evening didn't you?" Greg's whisper was barely audible, but Sara nodding politely.

"I told you she was fine. Relax."

…

An hour or so after the presentations had been made, and the dinner plates had been cleared, Greg and Sara wound down the idle chatter with the rest of the shift, and were able to slip away from the festivities around midnight, neither being on call, as they both ended up, with a stroke of genius good luck, to have the night off, an odd occurance, but a welcome one. Sara bent and kissed Nick's head, ruffling his longish hair affectionately, and husband and wife bid their goodnights quietly, slipping out the side door. Greg wasn't ten steps out the door and he had run his fingers over the house number, checking on Nora. Sara smiled softly at him, waiting as he neurotically checked in with Anna. She turned her attention to him as he snapped closed his phone, and he grinned childishly at her, taking her hand and swinging it playfully between them.

"Anna said she fell back asleep about an hour and a half ago."

"Good." He nodded, cocking his eyebrow suggestively at her.

"Now. The question remains." He grinned at her, and she glanced at him questioningly.

"Which question is that?"

"Ah, whether or not we're going to make it to the bedroom before I get you out of that dress." He wrapped an arm around her waist, and kissed her breaking contact with her only when they had reached the Denali. He climbed into the driver's side, and turned the ignition, watching as his wife climbed in beside him. She tossed a handful of curls out of her face, and sat back, fastening the seat belt, flashing him a broad, genuine, loving smile, before touching the radio, and turning the music from the baby Einstein CD they had in the player to one of Greg's Sex Pistols albums.

"What? You going to drive, or stare at me?" Her voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he flashed a grin back at her, and tossed the Denali into reverse, backing out of the parking spot, and out on to the main road.

That dress always fell off her curves so gracefully.


	23. Chapter 23

"Mom?"

"Mmhmm."

"Why do we have so many pictures?" Sara looked up from hers and Greg's copy of JFS and arched an eyebrow at her daughter. Nora was sitting on the floor in their living room, facing their massive wall of photos from Nick.

"Daddy and I like them."

"Did Uncle Nicky take them all?"

"Most of them."

"Where am I in that one?" Nora pointed to Greg's favorite frame, of them in the locker room after the case with the exploding kettle. Sara sighed, turning her gaze back to her daughter.

"You hadn't come yet, love." Nora nodded, studying the photo with an expression of curiosity.

"That's the one where I came, right?" She stood, pointing to the frame holding the shot of Greg holding Nora in the hospital room, hours after she was born.

Sara had been asleep, when that photo had been taken, but Greg had yet to be able to stop the tears from dripping down his cheeks. The Nevada sun was setting, casting Greg into a gentle shadow. The soft light fell lovingly around Nora, who had one tiny hand outstretched up toward Greg, almost touching his bottom lip. Her little face had scrunched up into a yawn, and a tear had dripped down his cheek, the moisture sparkling in the sunlight. Sara wiped a tear from her eye hastily, curling her feet under her body.

"Mom!"

"What?"

"That's when I came, right?" Nora twisted around, lying on her belly, head propped up on her little hands, big blue eyes focused in on her mother.

"Yeah. That was the day you were born." Nora smiled a lopsided grin identical to Greg's, and rolled over, lying on her back, looking at their wall of pictures.

"Mom?"

"Mmhmm."

"You and Daddy have brown hair."

"Mmhmm."

"I have blonde hair."

"Mmhmm."

"You and Daddy have brown eyes."

"Mmhmm."

"I have blue eyes."

"You going somewhere with this, Nora?"

"Mom, I don't have curlies like you and Daddy."

"You did when you were born."

"What happened?"

"We brought you home, and all the curls fell out."

"Mom?"

"Mmhmm."

"Was Daddy always funny?"

"Mmhmm."

"Is that why you love him?"

"Mmhmm."

"Daddy says he loves you more."

"I bet he does."

"Mom?"

"Mmhmm."

"The bug man says that you and Daddy are science nerds." Nora sat up again, eyes scanning the wall, looking at the pictures of her parents before they were married. Sara let out a soft laugh, nodding.

"Don't call him that, love, his name is Grissom."

"Mom, I don't like science."

"It's ok to not like science."

"I don't want to be a science nerd, Mom."

"You can be whatever you want, baby." Greg walked in from the kitchen hallway, wavy curls still wet from the shower. He had been lucky enough to get a six week old decomp with Nick last night. Nora turned to her father, standing in the doorway, and smiled.

"Hi, Daddy."

"Hey Rosebud." Nora stood, holding her hand out to Greg, grin widening on her features. Sara watched as Greg crossed the room, bending quickly to shake the excess water from his unruly mess of hair all over Nora, causing her to giggle.

"Daddy!" She hugged him tightly, and Greg lifted her effortlessly off the floor, carrying her to the couch that Sara sat on, and dropping her into the cushions playfully. He settled down on the far side of her, so that Nora was between her parents. Greg leaned over her, pressing her into the cushions, to drop a sweetly chaste kiss to Sara's lips.

"Daddy! Ugh! Your smell like dead people." Nora pushed Greg off of her, twisting her little face into a look of disgust, holding her nose. Greg laughed as Nora climbed into his lap despite the scent of decomp that he mostly managed to scrub off. "I love you, anyways, Dad. Even when you smell like dead people." She cuddled into him, balling up in his lap.

"Did you manage to get the decomp sorted?" Sara tossed their copy of JFS on the coffee table, and turned to face her husband.

"Yeah. None of the results will be ready until tomorrow, so I came home."

"Dad, will you make pancakes?"

"You want pancakes at dinner time?" Greg tilted his head, pressing a kiss to Nora's cheek.

"You always make pancakes when you come home." Sara laughed, and Greg climbed tiredly out of the couch, stretching as he stood.

"Alright, Nora Rose. Go get the milk." Nora flashed her mother a patented Sanders grin, and leapt off the couch, making a beeline for the kitchen. Both Greg and Sara watched her disappear through the doorway, before casting their gazes on each other.

"At least it's food, Sara Jane." He smiled as she unfolded herself from the couch and wrapped her arms around him affectionately.

"It's fine." She inhaled, smiling into his faded tee shirt. "You don't smell like decomp."

"Thanks. We need lemons though." She nodded in agreement, leaning up to press her lips to his. He shifted, pulling her closer, flush against him. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, and she slipped her fingertips beneath the hem of his shirt. He pulled away only just, resting his forehead against hers. "It's good to be home."

"Mmhmm."

"Dad! Pancakes!" Nora's sweet little voice called from the kitchen, before her blonde little head popped around the doorjamb. "_Daddy!_"

"I'm coming." Greg pressed one last kiss to Sara's temple, then took her hand and led her to the kitchen. Nora definitely had him wrapped tightly around her little finger. Chocolate chip pancakes meant spending time with the women in his life, even if it was only for a little while. He grinned as he stooped to retrieve the skillet, and a mixing bowl from the top shelf. His image in the lab years ago had been that he was a two-woman man. Now, now for the first time in his life, he really was.


	24. Chapter 24

Sara Sanders was exceptionally thrilled about leaving work that morning. Not that she wasn't thrilled every time she had been responsible for the latest edition to the Nevada Correctional Facility's High Security Ward, but this morning, as she made her way up the walkway, she smiled and waved at Mrs. Finch across the street, gathering her mail, and entered the front door in an exceptionally good mood.

Greg had beat her home by about an hour and a half, ducking out when his case wrapped, and Sara was still in the last interrogation. He had left a note on her locker, telling her he would meet her at home. They had both taken the next night off as a vacation day, as they did every year. She grinned, thinking about how in the ten years she had been married to Greg, she had used most of her vacation days each year.

Ten years.

Ten years she had been married to him. Ten years ago today she was slipping into a white sundress and tossing an extra pair of sock in Greg's bag, in case he got cold feet. She loved their dear little anniversary vacations. The 48-hour kind, where they never left the city, but did something together, usually with Nora. Earlier in the week, Greg had silently tore an ad for the Guggenheim's exhibit of Peter Paul Ruben's oil-on-canvas baroques, and slid it across the table to her. Nora, who just that morning was explaining matter-of-factly the differences between the Flemish realism and the Italian Grande Manner styles of painting, would find this exhibit to be her brand of heaven, and the decision was made that they were spending their tenth anniversary at an art museum. She supposed Greg was looking forward to trying to make Nora laugh about the nudity in the paintings.

Greg's car was in the driveway, and as Sara stepped into the front room, she called out a hello.

"Hey, how was that interrogation? When I left, Nick said you had the guy in tears." Greg appeared at the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the doorjamb.

"Fine. Yeah, he was a push over once we got under his skin." She shrugged off her light jacket, hanging it up, and tossed her keys in the bowl by the door. She kicked off her shoes, and closed the distance between herself and Greg, catching him in a slow little kiss. "This is Number Ten."

"Yeah. Can you imagine?" He smiled childishly at her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "I think we've been married long enough to give out marriage advice. We could set up shop outside one of the chapels on the strip-" She interrupted him, pulling his lips down to hers, kissing him again. He, in response, backed her halfway across the living room, and tumbled her over the arm of the couch, landing on top of her.

"Gregory!" Sara laughed against his lips as he slipped his hand under her shirt, kissing her softly, sprawled out on the couch. "There is a nine year old in the house, Greg."

"No there isn't." His voice had dropped to that rumbling husky tone that always made her legs fall open and her breath hitch in her throat.

"What do you mean there isn't?" Sara tried to sit up, but Greg pinned her down, his eyes sparkling mischievously and he smiled at her sweetly before catching her lips again.

"I pawned her off." He spoke against her lips, shifting to prop himself up on top of her.

"What do you mean you _pawned her off_? On who?"

"Were you not around when Catherine said that Lindsey came home from school last week for the summer?" He smirked at her confused expression, softening to a smile when she wrapped a leg casually around his waist.

"You pawned Nora off on Lindsey Willows?"

"Sort of. Well, yeah, I guess I did. Nora was psyched though, Catherine was talking about how Lindsey wanted to get to the Guggenheim this summer, and so then I said, if she wanted to go with a art nerd, she should go with Nora, and then I got to thinking, and I called Lindsey, and she was almost as excited as Nora." Greg dropped his head to Sara's neck, pressing gentle kisses to her collarbone, making her arch into him.

"So Lindsey is taking Nora to the Baroque exhibit?"

"And then they are going back to Catherine's house and making dinner, and having a movie marathon. Lindsey said something about education Nora on the fine art of 80s movies with the brat pack." Greg pressed his hip into her gently, eliciting a soft moan.

"So what are we doing, then, Mr. Sanders?" She had a pretty good idea what her beloved husband had in mind, but she knew how much he liked to make a presentation of things. Greg grinned at her broadly, and climbed off her roughly, coming to stand on his feet, and extended his hand out to her.

"If you'd follow me to the back of the house." Sara stood, taking Greg's offered hand, and he led her to the doorway they started at, inches away from the linoleum of the kitchen floor. "Wait right here." She chuckled at his last minute rushing around, as he grabbed the remote from their stereo in the bedroom off the counter, squinted his eyes shut for a moment, trying to remember something, and hit a button. Instantly, the sultry voice of Nina Simone invaded her ears, and she smiled softly at her husband.

_I who never had much I now have a treasure_

_A love too great to measure_

_I am blessed with happiness_

_And I'm done with loneliness_

"Take a look." He held out a hand, gesturing for her to enter the kitchen, and look down the hallway that lead to the dining room, Nora's room, and their bedroom. She stopped dead in her tracks. The hallway was lit but sporadically placed thick column candles, giving the stretch of floor a soft, alluring light. Greg had taken probably dozens of daisies, plucking out their petals, strewing them about on the hardwood floor. At the doorway o their bedroom, she could make out a white envelope, propped up on a candle, the light from its flame casting it in a soft yellow glow.

"Oh Greg." She turned to him, with tears in her eyes, and he laughed softly.

"I kind of had to pawned off the nine year old." Sara kissed him, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tightly.

_I who walked all alone not really knowing_

_Till now just where I was going_

_I am blessed because this day_

_You came show me the way_

"Greg, this is beautiful."

"I, um. I got you a card. For our anniversary." He smiled mischievously at her, and nodded toward the envelope at the end of the hallway, watching her as she humored him, making her way down the candlelit path to the card on the floor. He followed her, leaning casually against the doorframe of their bedroom, which she had fortunately not even noticed yet, as she bent to pluck the envelope from where he had placed it. Sliding the card out of the envelope, she stifled a laugh at the two grotesquely old people on the front, glancing at him before opening to the inside, where in his chicken scratch, he had written a single sentence in Norwegian, with 'ask me what it means' written in parenthesis.

"What does it say, Gregory?" She had let a smile curve around the corner of her lip, and turned to him, unable to see what he had done to the bedroom, because of his slim frame blocking the doorway. He smiled at her, and casually translated.

"It says 'Home is just another word for you.'"

_Till now I was like a grain of sand_

_Lost on a lonely beach_

_Yes till now I could never understand_

_That this was within my reach_

Greg stepped back, and Sara peered for the first time, into their bedroom. She came to stand beside him, and placed a delicate hand on his arm, momentarily forgetting how to speak, as her eyes took in the sight before her, and Greg laughed softly, next to her.

"Greg." The bedroom, which had always been somewhat plain, with the exception of a few photos and a stray copy of JFS, had been neatly picked up. Greg had drawn the blackout curtains, so that they wouldn't be interrupted by the rising Nevada sun on the other side. She glanced around at close to fifty thick column candles, like the ones out in the hallway, placed in clusters of two or three around the bedroom, on shelves, on the floor, on the window sills, on the dresser, on the armoire, casting the room in a similar soft yellow light. He had placed whole daisies haphazardly around the room, one or two at the base of most clusters of candles. He had made the bed, too, and laid a small bouquet of daisies tied with a single thin ribbon in the center, against the pillows.

"I'm not overtly suggesting any particular activity, but, Number Ten is special. We're in the double digits, now." He smiled softly at his wife as she turned, and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Nora won't be back until tomorrow."

_I who cried to the moon see only sunshine_

_Because darling you're mine_

_I am blessed with wealth untold_

_a love worth more than gold_

With that, Sara kissed him again, tugging gently at the hem of his tee shirt, pulling it over his head. He cradled her cheek in one hand, flicking the buttons down the front of her shirt open with the other, asking permission with his tongue. Greg toppled her over onto the bed moments later, stripping the last of their clothing away as he climbed on top of her, coupling sliding into her with a hungry kiss, causing her to moan into him. He chuckled against her kiss as she flipped him over, eager to wrestle her for the top. In a few minutes. One only celebrates one's tenth wedding anniversary once, and Greg and Sara celebrated all morning.


	25. Chapter 25

"Thank you so much." Sara pressed a light kiss to Nick's cheek, and was out the door in a matter of minutes. She had called him, somewhat panicked, Grissom had called her in early, and Greg was stuck pulling a triple, and no one could stay with Nora. Normally, the twelve year old could handle being home alone, and preferred the solidarity to get her homework done, but neither Sara nor Greg knew when they would be home, and Nick had the night off. Sara kept apologizing over and over, but, secretly, Nick was thrilled. Spending time with Nora was his favorite activity. He set down his bag, and shrugged off his jacket, making his way into the kitchen.

"Uncle Nicky, do you know what the capital of Texas is?" Nora sat at the kitchen table, curled up in one of the bar stool chairs, homework spread out all over before her. Nick laughed at the sight of her, drowning in Greg's tattered old hoodie from college, light blonde bangs falling in her eyes, hair swept up in a ponytail held with a shocking pink scrunchie. She grinned at him with Greg's bright smile, and he pulled out the bar stool beside her, sitting down.

"Texas, huh?"

"Yeah. Miss Gundy told us to compare Nevada to another state, and I picked Texas." Nora sat up straight, leaning over, and kissed the side of Nick's face, much like her mother minutes before. Nick leaned over her shoulder, peering at the work she had done.

"Austin."

"What?"

"State capital is Austin." Nick pointed to the city on a map of Texas that Nora had in front of her.

"Oh. Thanks." She rubbed the eraser of her pencil over where she had written in Dallas. "Dad said Dallas, but, to be fair, he wasn't paying attention. He was really frustrated about the decomp from last night." She smiled at Nick, and wrote in 'Austin' in her morphed Greg Sanders chicken scratch.

"Yeah? Grissom called him back in, right?"

"Yeah, he had just gotten into the shower and his pager went off." Nick nodded, that explained why Greg had been in such an irritated mood. He rested his head on top of his folded arms, watching her work diligently. "We were going to watch movies tonight, but he said that we'd have to do it the next time he had a night off, and then Mom told me to get my homework done." Nora set her pencil down, and sighed a heavily dramatic, almost-teenager sigh. "I wish I had art homework. At least art is fun."

"Greg said you were having a blast breaking in the old pottery wheel he found at that garage sale across from that 404 in Laughlin." She grinned at him, nodding.

"It's awesome. He tried to show me how to do it, but Mr. Schwartz had shown us how already, but Dad was so excited about it, he bought a book too, and when he tried to show me how to make a bowl, it flopped over because the clay wasn't in the middle, and it was too wet and went flying everywhere." Nora laughed. "Mom couldn't stop laughing. Dad had clay and slip all over his face and shirt." Nick chuckled, drawing a mental picture of what Greg must have looked like with reddish clay strewn all over him. "Then Mom made him take off his shirt so she could toss it in the laundry, and he kept taking about ghosts, and Mom smacked him." She shrugged, smiling at the memory. Nick rolled his eyes, leave it to Greg to make dirty references to 80s movies with his twelve year old in the room.

"Oh! I almost forgot." Nora jumped off the bar stool, and disappeared from the kitchen, only to reappear moments later with a pinkish blob the size of a candlepin bowling ball. Nick arched his eyebrow at his beloved little niece, grinning at her as she presented it to him with a Sanders-esque flourish of presentation that made him laugh softly.

"What's this, Rosie?" Nora carefully placed the hard, shiny, _heavy_ pinkish blob in his hands. "I think it weighs more than you do."

"Uncle Nicky!" Nora groaned dramatically, and took her seat again beside him. "It's a tea mug, because you don't like coffee."

"It's beautiful, Eleanora." Nick turned the 'tea mug' over in his hands, touching the smooth, shiny surface. "Thank you." Nick leaned over, pressing a kiss to her blonde hair.

"It was Dad's idea to glaze it pink. He said it would be good for your image. He said if you had a pink tea mug, the women in the lab would know you had a sensitive side, and want to go out with you."

"It's not enough Sara is trying to set me up, but Greg is trying to marry me off as well?" Nick set his new pink tea mug down in front of him, and turned his gaze toward his niece.

"Yeah, he said Mom's efforts were amateur." Nick shook his head, amused.

"Whatever keeps them entertained."

"Uncle Nicky?"

"Mmhmm?" Nora pushed away her schoolwork, tired of working on her project.

"If I pick out a movie, can you make popcorn?" She tossed him a Sara Sidle half smile, and he rolled his eyes in mock dramatics.

"I suppose so. I'm taking it personally that you aren't finished with your Texas project, though." He laughed as she jumped out of the chair and bee lined it for the living room, and he followed minutes later with a bowl of popcorn. They fell into comfortable silence as Nora pushed the DVD in, and the opening credits of 'The Princess Bride' flashed on the screen.

Nick felt a tug at his heart as Nora climbed into the couch next to him, picking up his arm so it draped over her shoulders. She snuggled into his side, and he hugged her to him, plucking a kernel of popcorn out of the bowl between them.

"Can we play that game where we say the lines before the actors do?" Nora twisted only just to look up at Nick, popping a kernel into her own mouth. Nick chuckled softly, and kissed the top of her head.

"Sure."

That was how Greg found them when he came home four hours later. Asleep on the couch, an empty bowl of popcorn between them, the throw blanket wrapped around Nora's legs.


	26. Chapter 26

"Press down the clutch and the brake. To the floor."

"Okay."

"Turn the key." The engine turned over noisily.

"Whoa. Dad, I started the car!" Nora grinned at Greg, biting her lip nervously.

"Okay, now, ease off the clutch, and press down the-" The car jerked violently, and Greg steadied himself with a hand on the dashboard. "Brake!" Nora slammed her foot on the brake, but lifted her foot form the clutch, stalling the car.

"I suck." She frowned, narrowing her eyes at the steering wheel. "What happened? Daddy, Mom told you not to laugh at me." Greg nodded supportively, and tried to hold in his chuckles.

"I'm sorry, Rosie."

"Dad."

"Okay. Now, foot on the brake, no, wait, look at me for a second." Nora slipped her foot off the stalled car's brake, and turned expectantly to her father. Greg held out his hands flat in front of him, and eased up the left, as he lowered the right, in a slow, steady motion. "Left foot easing up, right foot pressing down. Easy. Make love to the clutch." He turned to Nora's cocked eyebrow, and felt his cheeks redden. "Okay, _caress_ the clutch. Don't make love to anything."

"_Dad_." She crinkled her nose. "Gross."

"Okay. Let's try this again."

"I'm never going to be able to drive, Daddy."

"Not with that attitude. Besides, stick-shifts are hard, but you'll thank me later. Trust me. I got Auntie Malena to drive- alright, Auntie Malena is a bad example. I take no credit for her driving abilities."

"Or lack thereof." Nora deadpanned, turning determinedly back to the wheel.

"Another reason I'm thankful you're learning to drive. Less time with Hodges."

"Dad, don't pick on Hodges."

"Clutch. Give it a little love. Turn the key, there you go. Keep your foot on the clutch, okay, take your right foot off the brake-"

"Whoa, Dad, we're rolling." A brief flash of panic surfaced in his daughter's eyes, but Greg knew there was nothing behind them until the end of the street. Besides, they were barely moving.

"It's okay. Now. Place your foot on the gas. Do not press."

"Got it."

"Put as much pressure on the gas as you take off the clutch."

"What?"

"Gentle. Give it gentle love." Greg flapped his hands in front of him, mimicking taking pressure off the clutch and pressing down the gas. "Slowly." Nora scrunched her features into concentration, and eased her foot off the clutch, pressing down the gas. The car lurched forward, and stalled.

"I really suck."

"No. You're doing better than your mother."

"Really?"

"No. But you're doing better than Auntie Malena."

"Dad."

"Sorry. Supportive. I'm trying. I'm old, Nora, you're giving me whiplash." She sighed dramatically, not appreciating his humor, and he sobered, trying a different approach. "You know how you have to be gentle with the pottery wheel's pedal?"

"Yeah, but this is different, Dad."

"Nah, same thing."

"The pottery wheel only has one pedal, Dad. The car has three."

"Okay, pretend the clutch is a wheel you want to slow down, and the gas is a wheel you want to start. At the same time." She shot him a disbelieving glance, and started the engine again.

"I still suck."

"You haven't even stalled yet. This time."

"_Dad_."

"Give it a shot. Think pottery wheels."

"Slow down the clutch and start the gas, right?"

"Exactly. Wait, make sure you're in first gear."

"What?"

"Never mind, you are." Greg watched as Nora examined the steering wheel, grasping it tightly, closing her eyes. He bit his lip to keep himself form commenting, and shifted his gaze to her feet. She eased off the clutch awkwardly, pressing down the gas a bit too quickly, but the engine caught, and the car moved forward hesitantly at first, and then smoothly.

"Whoa!"

"There you go. You got it." Greg glanced at the tachometer, and noted the needle rising above the halfway point between two and three. "Okay. Now, lift your foot off the gas, steady, yup, now, press the clutch to the floor. Okay. Take the stick." He placed her hand on the shifter, and guided her hand to second gear. "And into second gear. Okay. Ease up on the clutch, lay into the gas." He grinned at his daughter as she sped the car up to nineteen miles an hour, down most of the length of their street. "Good. Okay. Now, press the clutch to the floor, and ease off the gas, and press the brake. Okay, stop at the stop sign. Good."

"Dad." Nora's tone was soft, and she smiled down at the pedals. "I _drove_."

"Yeah, yeah you did. I'm proud of you, Nora. Learning to drive is really hard." He smiled at her, and tried not to let the tear forming in the corner of his eye fall. She was growing up so fast. It seemed every time he came home from work, she had grown taller, or older, or smarter. The girl sitting in the driver's seat of the beat up old Corolla he and Sara had bought for her was not the little baby they had picked their home for. She was all grown up, and he was old. She turned to look at him, her features morphing into her own version of her mother's impatient expression.

"Dad."

"What?"

"You're crying."

"Am not."

"So the tear in the corner of you eye is your allergies?"

"Exactly."

"You don't have allergies."

"Shut up woman."

"No _you_. Crybaby. I'm telling Mom you cried."

"Fine." He laughed. "I'll just tell her you made your father cry." He turned to look her straight in the eye, and she laughed.

"Who's she going to believe? The old man or her sweet little baby girl?"

"I can not believe you called me old."

"Dad."

"No, I think we should talk about this. I'm not old."

"Dad."

"If any ones old it's your mother. She's older than me."

"Dad!"

"What?"

"We're at a stop sign, not in a parking lot."

"Oh right. How about pulling into the driveway?"

"I can do it."

"Just don't hit the Denalis. Ecklie will fire me."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay." Nora scrunched up her nose in concentration again, and eased off the clutch.

"Eyes open this time." He grinned at her, pleased to see that she was watching where she was driving, and there was a hint of a smile playing at her lips.

"You're a riot, Dad. Hysterical." Her voice was flat, and he laughed, trying not to grip the door handle as she took the turn into the driveway a tad sharply.

"Just don't hit the trucks, Nora."

As she pulled slowly into the driveway of 27 Harris Street and turned off the engine, Greg breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing into the passenger seat.

"So when do we do the freeway?" Nora pulled the keys out of the ignition and stared over at him expectantly. Greg laughed, and opened his door, climbing out.

"Let's get you out of second gear first, Rosie."


	27. Chapter 27

Greg Sanders stood at the stovetop in the kitchen of their house on Harris Street, intent on making pancakes for Nora before she left for school. Sara had gone straight to the shower in their bathroom, after snatching a handful of lemons from the fridge. Fortunately, Greg had had a DB of his own, and even more fortunately, it was fresh, unlike Sara and Nick's catastrophe of a floater decomp out at Lake Mead. He had been looking forward to a morning with his daughter all night.

He had just poured the batter into the skillet when Nora came down the hallway, her stick straight blonde hair swept up and away from her face in a ponytail, clad in one of his old Nirvana tee shirts that Sara had made him stop wearing in public years ago, and a pair of LVPD running shorts.

"Hi, Daddy." She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, coming over to him to drop a kiss to his cheek affectionately. "Uck." She crinkled her nose, and he knew she was smelling Sara's decomp. "Who had the decomp?"

"Your mother. Fortunately." He grinned at her, checking the underside of the pancake. "My DB was at least fresh," She returned his smile, reaching up to retrieve the chocolate chips from the cupboard.

"Did you save Las Vegas from the dangers of the night, Dad?"

"That's why they pay me the big bucks." She rolled her eyes, setting the bag of chocolate on the counter. She peered closely at her father, squinting her eyes at his hair.

"What?" He shot her an inquisitive look, and flipped the pancakes.

"You're old, Daddy."

"Not as old as Mom."

"Yeah but she doesn't have a gray hair."

"I take it you found one."

"I can pull it out, no one would know."

"No, leave it." Greg sighed, and leaned over to press a kiss to his only daughter's forehead before returning his attention to the skillet. "You're the one who put it there."

"_Dad_!"

"Besides, I've been waiting most of my adult life to grow gray hair."

"You people are weird."

"Always have been." He tossed a few pancakes on a plate, and handed it to Nora before pouring more batter into the skillet. She took the plate silently, and kissed him shoulder in thanks as she maneuvered around him to the fridge, fishing around for the butter.

"Put lemons on the grocery list, Mom used them all." He nodded not taking his eyes from the batter in the skillet. She glanced at an invitation sitting on the island before smearing a trace amount of butter on her pancakes and returning the tub to the fridge. "When did you get the invite to the fancy party?"

"Um, a few days ago." He glanced over his shoulder at the delicate invitation she was turning over in her hand. "Grissom's retiring."

"No _way_." Her voice had a scandalized quality that made him chuckle.

"Yeah. Ecklie is promoting Warrick, and opening the spot as a level one position."

"That means finally someone in that lab will be under fifty."

"Hey, there was a time when we were all under fifty." He flipped the pancakes, and turned to grin at his daughter. "Besides, I'm only forty-nine." Nora rolled her eyes at her father.

"Same difference, Dad." She considered her father's laughing form with a duplicate of her mother's arched eyebrow, before taking a bite of pancakes and tossing the card on the counter. "Bug man must be all overwhelmed. He's not one to take the center stage."

"He doesn't know, it's a surprise. Don't screw it up."

"Please, Dad. I'm not Hodges." Sara entered the kitchen, freshly showered, and smelling instead of dead person, like lemons with a hint of dead person. Greg accepted the kiss she pressed to his lips, handing her a mug of chamomile tea, and she turned her attention to her daughter.

"So, big date tonight." Sara sat on a stool, grinning at Nora.

"Mom, please. Its just a movie with Jack." Nora pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her shoulder, reaching for the orange juice. Greg scooped the pancakes out of the skillet, placing a plate in front of Sara.

"Who, incidentally, has no criminal record, and has yet to receive so much as a parking violation in the state of Nevada." Greg speared a fork into the side of his and Sara's stack of pancakes, and grinned proudly at his daughter. At her death glare, also identical to Sara's, Greg shrugged, taking another bite of pancake. "What? I asked him, like a normal father." Nora smiled at him, satisfied that he wasn't lying to her.

"Fine, fine." She glanced at the clock, putting the last bite of her breakfast in her mouth, clearing the plate into the sink. "I have to run, Mr. Kimmler fired my vase and mug yesterday, I want to see if they're ready before homeroom." She disappeared down the hall to change into school clothes. Sara leaned back against the back of the bar stool, a smirk across her face.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you didn't run his prints." Greg returned her smile, and stabbed a bite of pancake with a clump of chocolate chips. "Greg!" Sara sighed heavily. "You have to let go. She's seventeen." He leaned over their plate of pancakes, and kissed her softly. "She'll hate you forever."

"I swear I only ran his DNA through CODIS. Nothing more." At her arched eyebrow, he sighed. "I collected skin epithelials off that hoodie he left here. And saliva from a Pepsi can, just in case."

"She really likes him, Greg."

"I know. But she's my baby." He turned away from his wife, peering down the hall.

"Thanks for dinner." She smiled at him, tangling her fingers in the wavy hair at the base of his neck. Her soothing motions made him groan softly, and close his eyes.

"God I love it when you do that." She chuckled, stopping suddenly.

"Gregory."

"Mmhmm." He turned to face her, the playful sparkle in his eye making him appear thirty again for a mere moment. She was peering at his hair much like Nora did twenty minutes before. "Oh, yeah, Nora called me old, didn't understand why I didn't want to pluck it out." He figured she had found his gray hair.

"Oh, Greg." Sara sat back, hand to her mouth. When she met his gaze, there were tears in her eyes. Immediately, the mischevious expression on Greg's face disappeared, and in its place, weary concern.

"What's the matter, love?" Greg pushed curls away from her face, laying his hand to her cheek. She smiled at him, dismissing his concern. "Sara?"

"You have a gray hair."

"Yeah, I figured as much." He grinned at her, and bent to kiss her cheek.

"Gregory, stop." She laughed softly, raching out to touch the strand of silvery white hair.

"I don't know about it, though. I mean, gray hair suits Grissom, and Hodges. Nick looks good with it, too, but me, I mean, I'm the baby of the lab. I can't be having gray hairs."

"You pull that white hair out or color it in anyway and I'll divorce you." Sara's deadly serious expression made Greg laugh. He stepped closer, coming to stand between her thighs as she sat on the bar stool, and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips.

"I've waited too long to have a gray hair. I'm not touching it."

"I love gray hair."

"I know."

"When Nora leaves for school I'll have to show you just how much I love gray hair." There was a playful sparkle in Sara's eyes, and she smiled up at Greg lovingly.

"That girl needs to get her ass out of this house." Greg dropped a sweet kiss to Sara's lips, and pulled away quickly, collecting dirty dishes and piling them in the sink.

"It wouldn't kill you to be patient, you know."

"Patient, Sara, if you remember correctly, is my middle name." Greg flashed her a childish grin before casting his gaze down the hallway.

"You have all your stuff?"

"Dad. Please. Senior in high school, not senior citizen." Nora reentered the kitchen, her blonde hair swept out of her eyes in a french braid, wearing a pair of worn in jeans, converses, and a soccer hoodie from school. Sara smiled, reading the sleeve, 'Capt. Sanders.' She threw her book bag over her shoulder casually, and grinned at Greg.

Like father like daughter. Sort of.

"I'll call you when I get home tonight, ok?" Greg nodded, and Nora stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"Have a good day, love."

"Bye Dad. Bye Mom." With a wave, Nora had disappeared into the living room, and then the front door opened and closed. Greg moved the dishes from the sink to the dishwasher as Sara listened for the engine in Nora's little beat up Corolla to start up. Hearing her daughter pull out of the driveway, Sara stood, drained the rest of her tea, and left the kitchen, tossing a suggestive grin at Greg.

………

"D'you think we made the right decision staying on nights?" Sara asked, mumbling into Greg's chest, their breathing almost back to normal. She traced nonsense figures on his stomach, before propping her head up on an elbow to face him. Greg propped his head up on a pillow, and ran his fingers through her curly, disheveled hair.

"We never really had much of an option." He tightened his grip on her, and she rolled over on top of him. She pressed her hips gently against him, causing him to groan.

"We having a serious conversation or are we having more sex?"

"Can't we do both?" Sara teased, smiling at him like she used to when he was her student.

"I'm a long ways from being young enough to be able to do that, and you know it."

"What? Can't handle it?" He groaned and twisted away from her, and she let him roll away. He rolled over on his stomach, but propped up his head, and reached from her hand with his own.

"I thought you didn't consider sex a sport, Sidle."

"It's not. I just love you." She stated simply, rolling over on her back on his side of the bed to stare at the ceiling.

"I know that." He tugged on her hand, and she cuddled up to him. They tangled their legs together, and Greg draped an arm over her stomach, resting his head in the crook of her neck. "Can we stay like this forever?" He mumbled, and she smiled at the vibration of his voice against her bare shoulder.

"At least until Nora gets home from school." He chuckled, and pressed a kiss to her collarbone. "Should we have transferred to days?"

"Are you kidding me?" Greg cocked an eyebrow at her. "It's a little late for that now, love."

"We could have been there so much more for Nora."

"We did the best we could, Sara. She turned out fine."

"Yeah." Sara sighed, turning her head to face the shelf with a selection from Nora's hundreds of art projects. "She's all my dreams come true."

"We just do things a little differently, that's all."

"I want to be home when she gets home tonight, and sit on her bed in pajamas and talk about her date. She's going to come home to an empty house, Greg."

"So tell Grissom you aren't coming in." Instantly he smiled at the scandalized expression on her face.

"I can't do that Greg, I have a decomp to sort out."

"She always comes to the lab to tell us all about her day anyway, Sara. And you'll see her off, She's not leaving until six."

"She's going to leave next fall, and I'll have missed out." Sara's eyes started to water, and Greg frowned, gently wiping away her tears with the pad of his thumb.

"Everybody has to work, Sara." There was a hint of laughter in his voice, and she smiled, embarrassed at her minor break down. "We did a good job with her."

"I hope so."

"If we had nine to five jobs, sure, we would have had more children. But that means that we love Nora that much more." She nodded, wanting to believe him.

"I don't want her to think that we let her down."

"We didn't let her down, Sara. She's still speaking to us." He grinned at her boyishly, and she choked out a laugh, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"D'you think she's happy?"

"Mmhmm."

"Gregory?"

"Mmhmm."

"Thanks." She tightened her grip on him, pressing a kiss to his temple. He climbed on top of her like he used to when they were first married, making her laughter fill the room. Sara closed her eyes as Greg left a trail of kisses along her neck and chest. They may be growing old together, but they weren't that old yet.


	28. Chapter 28

"So who's the girl?" Sara glanced over at Nick, as they sat at the counter in hers and Greg's kitchen.

"Who said there was a girl? I never said there was a girl." Nick threw her a grin as he stirred his coffee gently.

"Cough it out, Stokes."

"Am I that obvious?" Sara's features twisted into a small smile.

"Always. Who is she?" At her arched eyebrow, Nick laughed gently, finally returning her gaze.

"She's a singer in this jazz trio."

"We talking about a potential Mrs. Stokes, or are we talking about another one night stand?" Sara raised her mug to her lips, taking a sip.

"She sings with Jake Norton."

"Warrick's friend Jake? Who played at my wedding?"

"Yeah."

"That means she's an amazing musician. He only plays with the best."

"Yeah."

"Young?"

"Not terribly."

"Well, go on." Nick pursed his lips, and took a deep breath.

"Her name is Grace."

"That's pretty."

"She's forty-three last month."

"That's a little young, Nicky."

"You going to be supportive, or am I going to have to talk to Nora about this?" He smiled warmly at his best friend, and she returned his grin.

"No, no, no. Sorry. I'm supportive. Tell me."

"She has a ten year old."

"Instant family."

"Yeah. He's really adorable. Adam. Adam's his name."

"Are you ok with not having children of your own?" Sara peered at him, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair affectionately.

"I, umm."

"You aren't."

"Not really. I mean, Nora, Nora I love as if she was my own, you know? I always thought that that was enough for me."

"But it's not." Sara's heart broke when she saw him blink away gentle tears. "Nicky, it's ok." He nodded, smiling as he wiped away fresh tears.

"It's not though. In the back of my mind, I never worried about having children. I figured that you and I would have one someday." He blushed, embarrassed. "I know, crazy."

"Whoa no, don't go changing the subject." She smiled warmly over her mug, gently scolding. They would come to terms with that another time. "Grace. Forty-three. Ten-year old son named Adam. Continue." He laughed, taking a sip of his coffee.

"She's got the prettiest curly red hair."

"You and red hair, Nicky."

"I know. I love red hair."

"So do I get to meet her?"

"We've only been out a few times, Sara."

"But you like her."

"Yeah." Nick ran his hands over his face wearily.

"She playing tonight?"

"Yeah. They have a few sets at this jazz club off strip tonight."

"Should I dress up, or is it casual?" Sara ran her fingers through her hair, smiling encouragingly. She swept her eyes over her longtime friend quickly. Yeah, he was definitely falling hard for this Grace woman.

"Sara-"

"Look, I have to meet her before you fall completely in love with her." And Nick laughed at this, more sincerely than he had in a long time.

…………

"You look nice." Greg laid his copy of Rolling Stone down on their bed, pulling his knees to his chest, as he watched Sara pull a conservative, yet shapely black shirt over her head. His eyes swept over the rest of her body, gracefully wrapped in a flowing little skirt that he would have thought she had nicked from June Cleaver, save for the paisley print, an indicator that Nora had bought it, last Christmas, if he remembered correctly. She twisted around to smile at him, and grabbed her necklace with the tiny diamond he had given her for Mother's day when she was pregnant, closing the distance between them, and handing it to him. He clasped the delicate chain around her neck, and she pressed a loving kiss to his lips.

"Thanks."

"Hot date?" He grinned at her, briefly looking thirty again for a moment, flopping back down on the bed.

"Just Nick. Should I be this nervous about meeting this Grace woman?" She turned back to the mirror against the bathroom door, smoothing the invisible crinkles in her skirt.

"Nah. He'll have a different one next week."

"I think this one has potential, Gregory."

"Yeah, but Nick said that about the last one, what was her name?"

"Anne Something."

"Exactly."

"Be supportive."

"I'm only saying there isn't much point." At the front of the house, the door opened and closed, and Nick's familiar Texan tambre called out from the living room.

"Hey, you ready?"  
"He's a charmer, Sara, watch out." Sara nodded her head toward the door, and Greg sighed, making his way to follow her.

"Don't rain on his parade. I've been trying to marry him off for fifteen years."

…………

"I like her."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Sara settled back in her chair, observing her friend. Nick grinned at her, then turned his gaze toward Grace. He was completely captivated, watching her swaying to the bridge of the song, listening to Warrick's friend Jake wail out a few notes on a tenor sax.

Grace Bartlett let her eyes scan the crowd, settling on Nick. They had been out a few times, he seemed too good to be true. Honest, loving, considerate, chivalrous, polite. Ten years older than her. Not that he looked or acted fifty-three in anyway, except for the salt and pepper hair that he wore, in her opinion, better than George Clooney.

She really liked him. Could see herself settling down with him. Had introduced him to Adam. Adam seemed to take a real liking to him. That kid was the best judge of character she knew. It was the least she could do for him, after how his father had left, to find him a decent replacement. But there was something special about Nick Stokes, she just couldn't put her finger on it.

She glanced at Jake, and picked up the chorus again, pouring sultry melodies into the microphone, eyes holding Nick's. The woman sitting next to him must be that Sara woman he had mentioned before. The one with the daughter, what was her name… Nora. Nick's honorary niece, Nora, who he adores. Two more songs, and they were off. Two more songs, and she got to see Nick. She couldn't help but smile, her knees all but giving way when he smiled back.

"You going to marry her?" Sara glanced at her friend, taking a sip of the Jack and Coke by her hand.

"I was thinkin' about it." Sara turned fully toward him, watching him grin broadly. "Bought a diamond, actually."

"Really."

"Yeah."

"And I haven't seen it, because?" She took another sip, and set the drink down. "I didn't help you pick it out, because?"

"Because it's just a stone. And I sent it to Nora. She's going to make the ring, and set it." Nick flashed Sara a gentle smile, and took a sip of his identical drink.

"My Nora."

"Yeah. I talked to her about it, I had her on the phone when I went looking, she's got an eye for that sort of thing, well, an ear, I guess, and after three shops, I asked her to do it."

"But you're my best friend."

"She's the artist. Said she was taking three metals classes this semester, and one of them was some kind of jewelry design blah blah bohemian something or other. I trust her. What?"

"She didn't say anything to me about it."  
"Relax, Sara, you're the one who's meeting her. Nora's only heard me ramble on and on about her."

"So when are you asking her?"

"Next Thursday. Nora's bringing the ring home with her Wednesday."

"You're asking this woman to marry you next week?"

"What?"

"Nicky, I hardly know her." Nick chuckled, sitting back in his chair. "This is a little fast, don't you think?"

"I'm fifty-three years old, Sara. Closing in on fifty-four. I'm not young enough for this to move too fast." Nick took a sip of his drink, and smiled softly at her.

"You going to adopt the kid, then?"

"She has to say yes first."

"Pending she does."

"Yeah. I really like him."

"You like him, or the idea of him?" She watched Nick closely, as he set down his drink, and rubs his hands over his features for a brief moment, before taking a deep breath.

"I want what you have."

"You want Greg? He's shit at laundry-" She chuckled into her drink, and he rolled his eyes at her attempt to lighten the mood. Greg was really rubbing off on her, still, after almost twenty years together.

"I want someone to utterly and completely adore, everyday, for the rest of my life. And I think this is the girl." He flashed her a weary smile. "I'm the last, you know. I'm the baby, I'm the one they all worry about. 'When is Uncle Nicky going to have kids? Why isn't Uncle Nicky married?' My three oldest siblings have grandchildren. Grandchildren."

"Nick, they're pushing seventy. It's normal for them to have grandchildren."

"That's not my point and you know it." He smiled at her, and she returned, relaxing knowing that he wasn't going to let this become one of there serious conversations. "Sometimes I feel like Grissom."

"What?" Sara arched a surprised eyebrow at him, and cast her gaze on Grace and Jake. "You are not like Grissom."

"I am though. I'm fifty-three years old, and I have nothing to show for it."

"And marrying Grace will?'

"Give me a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Give me something to hold on to that isn't yours, at school all the way in Chicago." Nick's eyes remained focused on the redhead standing next to Jake, and he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling softly.

"You are going to propose to Grace because you miss Nora?" Sara chuckled at this notion. She had known that Nick and Nora had developed a close bond, Nora often thought of Nick as her third parent, confided in him often, and their separation with Nora's first year away at school in Chicago had deeply affected both of them. Evidence of this would be last semester's cell phone bill.

"I never wanted someone to grow old with until I started growing old by myself." He smiled sadly at her, "I'm petrified I'll end up like that woman we found in the closet. She was dead for three weeks and nobody noticed. That's a horrible way to leave." Sara didn't have a response to this, and they sat in comfortable silence, listening to Grace wrap up the last chorus of one of Jake's originals.

Grace listened quietly as the soft applause died down. Last number. She turned to Jake, a broad grin across her features, her eyes sparkling softly in the dim light, and spoke to him, into the microphone.

"Let's sing a little southern charm, J." Jake nodded, returning her smile.

"You got it, Gracie." He turned to the pianist. "Mr. Charles' number, B flat." Over the soft vamp of the piano, Grace smiled as a few regulars recognized the song, and she introduced it.

"Vegas, here, this is a city of dreams, dreams comin' alive, dreams comin' true." She smiled at the few claps and whistles in agreement. "But, baby, we all gotta go home sometime, and home is just another word for you." Grace smiled warmly at Nick, picking up the leisurely melody of the first verse delicately, her whole demeanor shifting, as if she had stepped into a church. Her delivery reminded Sara of a prayer, and Sara realized instantly why Nick was so taken with Grace the jazz singer.

"_Georgia, Georgia,_

_The whole day through_

_Just an old sweet song_

_Keeps Georgia on my mind"_

Grace closed her eyes, her accent becoming thicker with every word that tumbled off her lip. Sara turned to Nick beside her, a quick-witted quip about his southern roots about to burst out of her mouth, when her heart swelled, seeing him.

"_I'm sayin' Georgia_

_Georgia_

_A song of you_

_Comes as sweet and clear_

_As moonlight through the pines_

Nick Stokes had forgotten that the rest of the room existed. Listening to Grace's signature song always drowned him in memories of home. He heard thirty years of homesickness each and every time she sang it. She was singing this song when he first met her; she was singing it when he had fallen in love with her. And she was singing it now, cementing his decision to ask for her hand, and her heart. He smiled, as her accent thickened, and he took comfort in knowing that she was as homesick as him.

"_Other arms reach out to me_

_Other eyes smile tenderly_

_Still in peaceful dreams I see_

_The road leads back to you"_

Grace opened her eyes, her gaze falling on Nick as Jake took the bridge. She rolled her finger in a circular motion by her hip, telling him to take another set. Nick Stokes was the kind of guy she could spend the rest of her life with. They understood each other, and deep down, where she hid her secrets, she loved him, and she knew he loved her. A southerner always finds another southerner in the end.

"_I said Georgia,_

_Ooh Georgia, no peace I find_

_Just an old sweet song_

Keeps Georgia on my mind" 

Sara leaned over, interrupting Nick's trance, touching his arm affectionately. "So she's from Georgia, I take it." He smiled, chuckling softly, and kissed her temple, returning the friendly affection.

"A would-be Dallas cowboy, a would-be Savannah belle, it's not unheard of." He grinned, and Sara saw a sparkle in his eyes that had not been there so brightly since before Walter Gordon and his Plexiglas box, and that warmed her heart, blurring her vision with gentle tears.

"_Georgia,_

_Georgia,_

_No peace, no peace I find_

_Just this old, sweet song_

_Keeps Georgia on my mind_

_I said just an old sweet song,_

Keeps Georgia on my mind" 

………

"Stokes. Good to see you, man. Hey, Sara." Jake Norton greeted Nick and Sara as he came out of the backroom, ready for his drive home. He shook hands with Nick, and bent to kiss Sara's cheek. "What did you think of my Gracie? She's got the best set of lungs in Nevada." Jake smiled, watching Grace toss her purse over her shoulder and join them. She nodded hello to Sara, and her features broke into a grin as she turned her attention briefly on Nick, placing a gentle hand to the side of his face, pulling him down to her, and pressing a sweetly chaste kiss to his lips, before turning back to Sara.

"Hi, I'm Grace Bartlett." She held out her hand, and Sara shook it, smiling.

"Hi, Sara Sanders. You were amazing."

"Well, Jacob here writes beautiful pieces." She slipped an arm around Nick's waist, catching his attention. They fit easily together, comfortable with each other. Jake nodded, acknowledging her praise.

"The music doesn't come off the page if there isn't anyone to sing it, love." Grace rolled her eyes, a soft grin on her face.

"Alright, alright. Enough." Sara could see, even in the dim light, that Grace's cheeks had a rosy tint to them. They had sat back down at the little table, Nick's arm thrown casually around the back of Grace's chair. A few minutes later the bartender brought four cups of coffee, on the house.

"How're the kids?" Jake asked her, and Sara took her eyes off Nick and Grace for a moment, turning to answer him.

"Nora's good, liking Chicago. I left the oldest at home with a copy of Rolling Stone, though." Jake smiled at her joke, laughing softly, and taking a sip of coffee.

"Well, tell Greg I said hello."

"I will, certainly."

"From what Nick has said, I thought you only had one child." Grace took a sip from the mug before her, her attention turned to Sara.

"Well, I only have one, but I married one as well."

"Robbed the cradle." Nick grinned.

"Kettles and pots, Nicky." Sara grinned, feeling at ease as Grace laughed.

"Greg, right? Why didn't he come out tonight?"

"Meeting Nick's women is Sara's thing." Jake muttered, earning him a smack in the arm from Sara.

"He's on standby tonight, the lab sent him home." Sara took a sip of her coffee, and leaned forward. "Nick tells me you have a son."

"Yeah, Adam. He's almost eleven." Grace slipped away from Nick only just, reaching into her purse, and taking out a photo, handing it to Sara. "This one's pretty recent." Children we always good topics to break the ice, and soon Sara found that Grace was unbelievably articulate, intelligent, sweet woman; everything she could have ever wanted in a woman for Nick. She was sharp-witted, with a sense of humor that would keep even Greg on his toes.

………

An hour and a half later, Sara quietly unlocked the front door of the little house on Harris Street, and waved to Nick as he pulled out. She clicked it shut behind her, and made her way through the darkened house, dropping her keys in the bowl by the door, kicking off her shoes by the couch, occasionally shedding articles of clothing as she made her way to the bedroom. Warrick hadn't needed Greg to come in after all, when she opened the door, the sound of his soft breathing made her smile. The best part of her day was climbing into bed with him. She lifted the slimming black shirt from her frame, replacing it with a thin tank top, and slid the skirt over her hips so it pooled around her ankles, stepping out of it, and pulling up an old pair of Greg's boxers in it's wake. She unclasped the tiny diamond pendant from around her neck, placing it gently in the jewelry box Nora had made last semester, before making her way to the bed and pulling back the covers.

"So what's our official position on Grace the jazz singer?" Greg mumbled into the pillow, reaching out and pulling Sara against him, the back of the length of her body flush against the front of his. He sleepily cradled her in his arms, wrapping an arm around her stomach tightly, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before breathing in the scent of her curls. Sara smiled, settling in against him, relaxing into his grasp.

"We like her. We think she's sweet, and funny, and elegant, and perfect for Nick."

"Do we think she'll last?"

"He's going to propose."

"What?" Greg sat up only just, pulling her to face him. "He's only been seeing her a few weeks." Sara smiled warmly, placing a gentle palm to the side of his face, and he took the invitation, leaning in to press his lips to hers chastely. "Did you see the ring?"

"Nora's making it. He said he picked out a diamond and sent it to Chicago already. She's taking all those metals classes, and she's good at that sort of thing. He said he wanted something original, something different."

"He's really thought this through." Greg kissed her again, and settled back down into the bedding, pressing another kiss to her shoulder. "I'm sure she'll fashion something eclectically classic."

"I think he really does love her." Sara placed a hand over his on her waist.

"Really?" He mumbled sleepily into her shoulder.

"She's from Georgia."

"Oh, a southerner. That's perfect, then." He cuddled against her, making her smile. "You smell nice."

"Ha. Like a smoky jazz club."

"You know I love it when you smell like Miles Davis." She laughed, twisting in his hold, accepting the kiss he dropped slowly against her lips. She responded instantly, stilling her playful movements in favor of leisurely running her fingers along his arm, granting him access as he kissed her lazily.

"I do not smell." She mumbled against his kiss, making him chuckle softly.

"No, it was just a line."

"Trying to pick up your own wife?"

"Thought I'd make it interesting." He shrugged, rolling on top of her, making her laugh again. She returned his suggestive grin, and ran a hand through his unruly wavy hair, smattered with the fainted hints of gray, still very much overwhelmed by his natural chestnut brown. "What's so funny?" His words pulled her out of her thoughts, and her eyes left his scraggly hair and met his gaze.

"Nothing. I'm game for interesting if you are." He laughed softly, pressing into her hips as he placed a delicate kiss to her lips.

"Oh, I'm game."


	29. Chapter 29

"So what do you think?" Nick leaned back against the couch, turning to face the television, and the Houston Astros, phone cradled against his shoulder. Almost two thousand miles away, Nora Sanders sat cross-legged with a bowl of popcorn in her lap, an a dimly lit dormitory, the Astros-Cubs game on mute, thanks to her sleeping roommate. She smiled, tilting her head to the side, resting it on her hand, much like Greg did during his lab days, when he was amused. She turned away from the sleeping bump in the next bed, and faced the window of her dormitory, tossing a kernel of popcorn in her mouth.

"I think you should ask her."

"You don't think that's too forward? Too fast?"

"Have you slept with her?"

"Nora. What kind of guy do you take me for?" Nick winced at her casual tone, and bluntness. He did not want to think about how fast she had grown up. Yesterday he was capping her sippy cup of OJ, today she was giving him sex advice. God he was old.

"Uncle Nicky, there's no point in stressing over whether or not she'll go out with you if you've already slept with her."

"You're right." Nick sighed heavily, reaching over and grabbing the mug of tea he had made, taking a sip. "When did you grow up, Rosie?"

"I'll take that as a 'yes,' then." Nick smiled, staring down into the mug as the Astros took the field for the fourth inning.

"Now you see why I couldn't talk to your mother about this."

"Yeah, she would have told you that you were too old for meaningless sexual relations." She grinned, provoking her favorite uncle.

"Those words out of your mouth are creeping me out."

"I still think you should ask her out."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Nora arched eyebrow at the phone. "Was she any good?"

"Eleanora Rosalind Sanders. I'm disgusted." Nick gave her a shocked look. "You sound too much like your father. I don't want to talk about it. Women are too much for me. I don't know how your father faired so well." Nick took a long sip of tea and sighed.

"Got me. He's a huge geek." She turned to the window, watching as people shuffled by on the street below. "Y'all are a bunch of geeks." She spat out, proud of her Texan imitation. Two thousand miles away, Nick rolled his eyes.

"The correct term is 'science nerd,' Eleanora."

"Right."

"Why did you go so far away, Nora?" The hurt in his voice was evident, and she hastily wiped moisture from her eyes.

"I could have gone to Florence, or Greece. I'm only in Chicago, that's not horribly far."

"You have to take a plane there, love, that's far in my book."

"You're going to have to learn to live without me. I'm sure you got along just fine when Mom was busy turning Dad down for dates, and I was only a figment of his dreams. UNLV doesn't have the arts program I wanted. Plus, Mom said the arts department there can't be trusted, and Dad wouldn't let me look at it." Nora squinted at the dry paint under her nails, chipping it away as Nick frowned, remembering the bout they had with the Mathers case and the anniversaries.

"No, you can't study art a UNLV, they're right."

"See, everybody says that, but no one will tell me why."

"Yeah well, forgive us old people for clinging to your innocence."

"Innocence? Most kids are babysat by an elderly woman down the street. I was babysat at the Las Vegas Crime Lab. At night. There's your loss of innocence. I could tell the difference between a dismemberment by a hack saw and a dismemberment by a power saw before I went to kindergarten." Nora lay back against her pillows, rolling over on her stomach, and dipping her hand into the bowl of popcorn that was now beside her. "Your boys are losing." Fortunately the Astros game was against the Cubs, and it was being telecast in Chicago.

"They wouldn't be losing if the damn Cubs didn't kick the shit out of them."

"Tell me how you really feel, Uncle Nicky." There was a pause on the other end of the line, as Todd Walker nabbed a fly ball hit by an Astros batter.

"Dammit. He almost had that."

"Please, infield fly rule. Walker had that as soon as it left the bat." Nora propped her head up on a hand, watching the baseball game on mute.

"I spent eighteen years making you an Astros fan, don't leave me now."

"Give me a little credit, Nicky. I may have Californian DNA, I may have been born and raised in Sin City, but when it comes to baseball, I'm pure Texan."

"That's my girl."

"Any kinky cases last night?"

"Nah, a routine B&E, then a murder-suicide. Nothing to write home about, for me anyways. Your father ended up with a floater, which stank up the whole lab from the morgue, so I'm guessing your house reeks as well."

"When I called this morning, Mom wasn't too pleased, coming home to that after a triple shift."

"Yeah, times like that I'm glad Greg married her." Nora smiled sadly at Nick's attempt at humor. He loved her mother deeply, a special little detail he disclosed to her when she had come to him crying after breaking up with Jack.

"Speaking of marrying, this Grace woman you're asking out, she have potential?"

"I think so."

"Really?" Nora sat up, a broad Sanders grin smeared across her face.

"Really really." Nick smiled at her excitement, propping his socked feet up on his coffee table.

"Whoa, Uncle Nick, this is a big deal."

"Do you think she'd say yes, hypothetically?"

"Uh, have you looked at yourself lately?"

"I know, I'm old-"

"You're my favorite adult that I don't share alleles with, and you're not balding or fat like your competition."

"You've been hanging around with Greg too much."

"Side effect of being his spawn."

"And listening to Hodges too much."

"Side effect of hanging out in the Lab." He smiled, chuckling softly. "Hey."

"What?"

"We were just talking about you asking Grace out, and then all of a sudden you want to marry her."

"Too fast."

"No, you're too old for it to be too fast. Unless you do what Warrick and Tina did. That's too fast."

"You're lucky I like you. I can not believe you called me old."

"I tell it like it is, Nick."

"You got that from your mother."

"Of course." Nora laughed out loud as Nick groaned… the Cubs were absolutely relentless, sending each of Nick's beloved Astros back to the dugout one at a time, frustrated, defeated expressions on their faces. "Your boys are takin' it in the ass, Uncle Nicky."

"Yeah, yeah. They ain't like they used to be, that's for sure. I went to school with a guy who used to play for Houston. He used to bat just like that Derek Lee monster. Amazing."

"You are deliberately avoiding the topic at hand, Uncle Nicky."

"I am not."

"Like hell you are."

"Fine, fine."

"Want to know what I think?"

"Yeah. That's why I called you."

"I think you should marry her. I think you should bring my mother, pick out a classic little ring, slide the box across your kitchen table to her one evening in the not so distant future, let your accent get all thick, and ask her to marry you."

"You've seen way too many sappy romance movies."

"Blame that on Dad. He's a sucker."

"Yeah." Nick shifted, setting his mug on the coffee table. "He's a good man, though." Nick's tone was quiet, and Nora wasn't ignorant to the inaudible sigh of lamentation, almost, in his voice.

"I'm sorry plan A didn't work out for you, Nick." Nora frowned, and Nick smiled at the concern in her words. Plan A, and Sara, had been gone as a possibility for years.

"I'm not. If I had to choose between plan A, and having you, I would choose you over and over again. Plan A was doomed to bust, we both know that." Nora smiled, watching Todd Walker hit his third homerun of the night. "Plus, I have all the benefits of having you around, and I don't have to pay for art school in Chicago. Plan B, in the long run, was better. We're digressing again. Talking about your mother and what could have been is not going to help me with Grace, hypothetically."

"Right. Grace."

"So, Miss Artsy. What kind of ring am I looking for? Hypothetically." Nick sat up on his couch, and hit the mute button on the remote, silencing the announcers and their discussion of the Astros' annihilation.

"Definitely sparkly, you want a cut that really catches the light, where she's singing with Jake every night, you want to have the diamond reflect the stage lights."

"Just watch out for the scintillations, and make sure it's not too shallow, or too deep. No reflection. Hypothetically." Nora smiled as her uncle laughed into the phone, nearly two thousand miles away.

"Alright. Scintillations. Got it." Nick opened his mouth to continue, but paused when his beeper went off shrilly.

"I know that sound."

"Yeah." Nick frowned at the tiny piece of equipment. "You'd think Greg wouldn't need my help after being a level five for 8 years, but no. He needs an extra hand with the floater."

"Tell him I say hi."

"I will. Listen, I'll call you when I have some selections narrowed down, you can give me your artistic opinion."

"Alright. Have fun, Uncle Nicky. I'll beep you with the results of this Astros slaughter."

"Ok. I love you."

"I love you too, Nicky." Nora hung up the phone, laughing to herself. She loved her uncle deeply, but the man was _such_ a nerd. Rolling over on her stomach again, Nora dug her hand in the popcorn bowl, and turned her attention towards the telecast from Wrigley Field. Someone had to watch the Astros, even if the Cubs were using them for batting practice.


	30. Chapter 30

Jack Cooper pulled up against the curb just outside Number 27, Harris Street, throwing the beat up old truck in to park, and frowning at the house, his attention caught by the soft light pouring leisurely out of a window of Nora's studio room on the second floor. He had screwed up, badly. In the heat of an argument, he had called off their relationship, a week or so before she left for Chicago last fall. He loved her deeply, loved her still, but he had been worried, scared even, about Nora going so far away, leaving him here in Vegas. Sure there were gigs in Chicago, but he had a good thing going here, and he hadn't wanted to move.

Once you got a foot in the door, you hardly stepped back out on to the porch.

He sat back against the worn fabric of the seat, desperately trying to gather the confidence to follow through with his plan. It had been ten long months since he had seen her, talked to her, heard her laugh, and it had worn him down. He had quit the Beatles tribute band, and the Ricky Ricardo big band back up for a handful of past-their-prime Hollywood personalities, unable to carry on playing anything written in a major chord, anything with lyrics about the happily ever after endings of well-fabricated love stories. He had brushed up on his jazz form, playing routinely with Jake Norton, and a handful of other small time trios. Jack had started to play the blues to ease his broken heart, the more it hurt, the more he played.

He took a long sip out of the to-go cup, slowly emitting steam out of the tiny opening, letting the bitter coffee wash over his tongue. A quick glance up the driveway ensured that Nora was home, and Mr. and Mrs. Sanders were not. Now or never. Jack reached over to the passenger seat, wrapping his fingers around the neck of his guitar, easing it out of the soft case. He slipped out of the truck, moving to the back, and rummaging around, plugging in the guitar to the small amp he had safely secured against the side of the truck bed. The old fat guy who lived at Number 29 waddled out his front door, making his way to the mailbox. Jack waved cordially at him, and after a few moments, Mr. Harper recognized the kid who was parked outside Greg and Sara's house.

"Haven't seen you 'round here for a while, Mr. Cooper." Jack smiled wearily at the Sanders' neighbor, hoping his casual call from the mailbox wasn't loud enough to bust his plan. "Greg know you're here?"

"No. I was hoping a little groveling without Mr. Sanders watching me like a hawk would help my case."

"Good luck." Mr. Harper pulled his mail out of his box, and began waddling back up his little driveway. "Greg usually gets home around seven."

"I remember." Jack watched Nora's neighbor make his way back into his house before taking a deep breath, climbing into the bed of the truck, and switching on the amp. He swung his legs over the side of the cab, sitting comfortably on the roof.

Now or never.

"_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone_

_It's not warm when she's away_

_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone_

_She's gone much too long_

_Any time she goes away"_

Nora had fallen into a routine while in Chicago, working in the studio in the early hours of the morning, while the rest of the city slept. Coming home from school for the summer, she continued, waking up before the sun to absorb the relative silence, and let her mind wander. At school, she painted, but in Las Vegas, her first thought was of the tired old pottery wheel, where she sat presently, pulling absently at a chunk of clay that melted smoothly against her touch. She pushed a stray blonde lock out of her eyes with her forearm, dipping her fingers into the slip and pulling the edge of the clay out severely, widening what had started to look like a bowl.

"_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone_

_Wonder if she's gone to stay_

_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone_

_And this house just ain't no home_

_Anytime she goes away"_

The muffled notes of a distant memory invaded her thoughts, but Nora only pushed in the lip of the bowl, creating a narrow neck on her now pear-shaped bowl vase thing. It wasn't until she heard his voice did she realize the music was outside her window, not in her head. She let up on the pedal, slowing the rotation of the wheel with a practiced ease. She picked up her mug of coffee, not bothering to wipe the remnants of the mix of water and clay from her hands. Her eyes watered instantly, as she spotted the familiar pick up truck beside the curb in front of her house. A quick glance at the clock told her that her parents would, if they had wrapped their cases, be home within the hour.

"_I know_

_She's gone to stay_

_It's breaking me up_

_Any time she goes away_

_Gotta leave the young thing alone_

_There ain't no sunshine when she's gone"_

She hadn't seen him, hadn't heard from him, in ten months. Hadn't talked to him since their blowout argument that killed their relationship eight days before she boarded the plane for Chicago last fall. She hung back, not fully coming up to the window, eluding him. He had cut his hair, the soft brown curls that had once fallen freely around his face were gone, cropped short, but still tossled in every which way, making him look older. By the look of the casual definition of his arms as he strummed at his beloved guitar, she knew he had been helping out his brother with the roofing jobs. She had heard a rumor that he was playing with Jake Norton and Grace Bartlett, not that it surprised her in the least. To say Jack Cooper was a talented musician was an understatement, and she frowned, listening to him effortlessly lapse into a blues progression.

Her father never really liked him. He wasn't a bad kid, wasn't a criminal, or an addict. She hadn't told her father that Jack had given up a full ride to Berklee to take care of his grandmother and help out his brother, or that he played in a Beatles tribute band almost every night off strip to stay playing when Dirado High School cut back on their music program. She leaned against the edge of the window, remaining in the shadows, watching him, wiping the tears from her eyes. She loved him. She had since she was sixteen. She rarely disagreed with her father, and they almost never argued. But Jack was a good guy, and she had stood her ground when her father told her she was better off without him. She wasn't so sure.

Now, here he was, in front of her house at 6:17 AM, turning the amp up, singing his feelings for her, his apology for the emotional anguish they had both apparently suffered, to the entire street. Vaguely she wondered if the neighbors minded. She didn't really care. The polite thing would be to go downstairs, open the front door, get him to talk to her instead of waking up the whole neighborhood. She didn't care about the neighbors.

She wasn't opening that door until nine thirty.

At least.

Taking another sip of coffee, Nora crossed the room again, leaving the window and sitting back down at the pottery wheel, working the pedal as she dipped her fingers in the slip, and touched the wet clay with a gentle affection. Now, at least, she had background music to work to. She loved him, but desperate wheedling was in order, especially after ten months of silence.

Crank it up, Jack.

Greg Sanders ran a hand through his hair, turning his department-issue Denali onto his street and frowning immediately as he recognized the piece of shit truck parked outside his house, and the piece of shit kid sitting on its roof. He sighed, suddenly glad that he and Sara had been called to different scenes at the beginning of shift. Glad she wasn't sitting beside him, with a huge 'I told you he was a good kid' grin on her face. It wasn't that he didn't trust his daughter to be a good judge of character. It was that this kid broke her heart. Sara could sing his praises all she wanted, but all that came to mind when Greg thought of Jack Cooper was Nora in sweats, red splotchy face, puffy I've-been-crying-for-three-days eyes, and clingy hugs that left him soggy from all the tears that had dripped down her cheeks. No, he thought he had seen the last of Jack Cooper.

Jack watched a black Denali pull into the driveway, silently wishing it was Nora's mom in the driver's seat. Mrs. Sanders liked him. He glanced at the window of the studio room, not surprised to find it empty, before casting his gaze back at the Denali, trying not to cringe as Mr. Sanders climbed out of the driver's side, and made his way up the walk to the front door.

"G'morning, Mr. Sanders." Jack sang a greeting to Nora's father, flashing him his best good guy smile, and returning to the blues riff he had been playing.

"Jack." Greg nodded a hello, frowning openly at the younger man's less than conventional method of apology. He rolled his eyes as he shut the door securely behind him, setting his kit down by the door and hanging up his jacket. He listened to Jack play some song he didn't recognize as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot that Nora had started, silently making his way up the stairs, and coming to lean against the doorjamb of the studio room he and Sara had set up. Nora glanced up from the pottery wheel, and offered him a small smile.

"Hi Daddy." Nora pressed the pedal harder, making the clay spin faster, shifting the shape expertly, frowning at her work.

"Hey Rosie." Greg dropped onto a worn out old armchair, suddenly thankful that he and Sara had stashed it up here when they had replaced it in the living room a few years back. "How long has Charlie Parker been serenading an empty window?" Greg took a long sip of coffee, watching as Nora sighed heavily.

"Dad, Charlie Parker played the saxophone. Jack is a guitarist." He laughed softly as she corrected him, successfully avoiding his question. Maybe a different approach.

"How long you going to let him grovel out there?"

"Couple of hours. I don't know." His heart broke as she let up on the pedal, and sat back dejectedly. She took a sip from her mug, turning to look at the window, and he saw the sparkle of a tear rolling down from the corner of her eye. "I was doing fine with out him, you know? I thought I had moved on." Outside, Jack modulated into a new song, and as he listened to the words being sung to his daughter, Greg fought back the urge to go downstairs and throw that piece of shit kid in the back of the Denali, drive him out to Area 51, tie him to a fence and leave him for dead.

"_We Belong to the light_

_We Belong to the thunder_

_We Belong to the sound of the words_

_We've both fallen under_

_Whatever we deny or embrace_

_For worse or for better_

_We Belong, We Belong_

_We Belong together"_

"Kid doesn't make a half bad Pat Benatar, huh?" Greg relaxed when Nora chuckled softly, wiping her tears with the rolled up sleeve of her sweatshirt.

"Jack could make the 'twinkle, twinkle, little star' sound like Mozart." Nora smiled sadly, and Greg thought better of telling her that the hand she had just ran through her hair left a trail of clay slip tangled in her blonde locks. Or that 'twinkle, twinkle, little star' was, in fact, a Mozart composition. "Where's Mom?"

"Finishing up some paperwork with Nick. She'll be home soon." Greg stood, sensing that Nora needed to work through what to do with Jack on her own. "Want me to have his car impounded?" He grinned as she rolled her eyes at him.

"Tempting, but no, thank you. If this is his way of apologizing, he's going to be out there for a while. If he makes it to nine thirty, I'll talk to him." Greg nodded, satisfied with Nora's plan. "He's a good guy, Daddy. He just needs to grovel a little more."

"This is like some horrible eighties movie in slow motion."

"You like eighties movies, Dad, who are you kidding." Nora flashed Greg a reassuring smile, before pressing the pedal on the wheel, watching the clay begin to spin steadily again. "I just need to think."

"Think all you want, Nora. I'm going to crash before your mother comes home."

"Long night?"

"They always are." Greg pressed a kiss to Nora's clay-smattered hair, and made his way to the door, and down the hall. "But if that punk starts playing Ozzy Osbourne I'm calling Brass." Nora smiled at her father's halfhearted threat, and glanced toward the window.

"If he starts playing Ozzy _I'll_ call Brass."

Sara arched her eyebrow in amused disbelief, pulling into the driveway at ten minutes of eight in the morning, offering a somewhat friendly wave to her daughter's old boyfriend, trying to not appear as awkward as she felt, having Jack Cooper show up on their curb for a seemingly audience-less performance. But Sara knew that both her husband and her daughter were listening intently to each note Jack played.

She made her way inside their little house, hearing the soft rhythmic thud of the pottery wheel pedal on the second floor. She shed her jacket, placing her kit beside Greg's by the door, kicking off her shoes, and padding her way to the kitchen, reaching up into a cupboard and pouring herself a cup of coffee from the pot. She ran a hand through her messy curls, slipping her light sweater off her shoulders and draping it over a stool in the kitchen. She wanted to know what Jack Cooper was doing on their front lawn, but she wanted to hug her husband more.

Greg snuggled into his pillow, listening to Sara move quietly through the kitchen down the hall. With their bedroom being towards the back of the house, the majority of their property muffled the racket pouring out of the amp in the back of Jack's truck. He smiled tiredly as he heard her shuffle into the bedroom, and he rolled over, watching her shed the clothes she had worn to work and replace them with running shorts and his tattered old hoodie.

"Jack should try putting up flyers the next time he has a concert. Might get an audience." Sara smiled faintly at her husband, unclasping her necklace and dropping it in a jewelry box carefully.

"He has all the audience he wanted. Nora's hearing every note." Greg mumbled, reaching out in the general direction of his wife. Sara laughed at his searching fingers, amused at how quickly Greg transitioned from brilliantly tough Las Vegas CSI to half-asleep husband, in dire need of human contact. She slipped into bed, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, and rolled over on top of him. Sara ran a hand through Greg's unruly curls, smiling at the smattering of grey hairs hidden in his natural brown, and the feel of his hands slipping around her waist, under the hoodie. She kissed him soundly, sliding half off him to use his chest to pillow her head as they both dozed off, tired from the grueling shift they had both escaped. Maybe it was best to stay out of the way of the dramatics on the front lawn, let Nora handle it.

Greg had been content to lie there, letting the even movements of Sara's breathing lull him to sleep. She felt him relax under her, and let the even beating of his heart soothe her as she listened to Jack's one-man blues rendition of some Beatles song filter through the house softly.

"_I want you_

_I want you so bad_

_I want you,_

_I want you so bad_

_It's driving me mad, it's driving me mad."_

Sara tightened her grip on Greg's abdomen, hugging him, and smiling as he pressed a gentle kiss to her hair. She didn't fight him when he rolled her over flat on her back, and she shifted instantly to let him slip his arm around her waist, laying his head in the crook of her neck. She sifted her fingers absently through his hair, running her hand along his arm. Outside, Jack continued to play, and Sara listened to him continue after an incredibly moving bridge.

"_I want you_

_I want you so bad_

_I want you,_

_I want you so bad, babe_

_It's driving me mad, it's driving me mad."_

Upstairs, Nora let the pottery wheel slow on it's own accord, curling up on the ratty old armchair, listening to Jack continue to play. His voice had continued on, almost effortlessly, every so often betraying him with a crack, or a hoarse note, but Jack thought it would only show her, prove to her, that he was willing to sacrifice his voice to get her back.

He only hoped Mr. Sanders still refused to carry a gun.

His brilliant plan, to sing Nora Sanders back into his life, had seemed to begin to fail. Maybe it had been doomed from the start. Jack wrapped up the cadenza of the Beatles piece, and leaned over, turning the amp all the way up.

This was his last chance.

Jack Cooper sighed at the still house across the lawn, and frowned at the window he knew Nora was near. He had one last song to try before he resigned to being miserable without her.

"_I close my eyes and see tomorrow_

_My dreams begin and end with you_

_I hear you say you'll be there_

_Always for me there_

_I must believe it's true"_

This was his prayer, his mantra at the close of the evenings when the sun was starting to creep up on the city, when he'd lost a sense of time in the key of B flat, when finally, everything began to become a reality once again. When the lights came back on, and he remembered that she had stopped listening a long time ago.

"_I found my way even in the dark_

_Though at times it seem too far_

_I knew if I'd listened to my heart_

_I'd find that love is where you are"_

It was her seemingly unnatural love of country music that had brought him closer to this particular tune. He had learned it, and had sung it for her as a surprise, for her birthday. They had been happy then, and his rendition had reflected their happiness. Now, however, Jack sounded weary, miserable, and it was the mournful taste the melody left in her mouth that brought her to her feet, and silently, Nora made her way out of the studio room, and down the stairs. Enough was enough.

"_Love is where you are_

_And anywhere you are_

_It's where I want to be_

_No matter what may happen_

_No matter where I go_

_Your arms are home to me"_

She ignored the tears in her eyes, the grief in his voice breaking her heart all over again. She listened, leaning against the inside of the front door, as he slowed the last few notes, lingering on the melody for a few more seconds.

Then there was nothing.

Jack had stopped playing.

Outside, Jack brushed a tear away from the corner of his eye, taking one last look at the silent house before he slid from his perch on top of his truck to the back, crouching to unplug the amp and safely stow away his guitar. He didn't notice Nora open the front door right away, placing the guitar case in the passenger seat and pulling his worn, faded baseball hat over his hair, preventing the moisture of his tears from sparkling in the Nevada sun. They could have been happy, they could have made it work, they could have tried. Her gentle voice interrupted his thoughts.

"My father wanted to have your car impounded." Nora leaned against the support post of the front porch, her features already taken on that steely unreadable expression Jack remembered her mother giving her father on one or two occasions.

"Obviously you talked him out of it. Thank you." Jack shut the passenger's side door, and leaned the bulk of his weight against the side of his truck, leaving the space of the lawn between them.

"What are you doing here, Jack? Did you think I'd just take you back, like I loved you all along?" He winced at her sharp words, but the crack in her somewhat steady voice reassured him that being John Cusack might have had a chance after all.

"I was scared, Nor. I kept thinking that you'd go to Chicago, and you'd forget about me, about us, about this town. That you'd never come back."

"I told you I was coming home in May. I came home in May. You didn't trust me." Nora took a few steps forward, sitting on the front stoop of the house. "I don't know what you want me to do, Jack. I'm out of things to say."

There was a long pause, and neither Jack nor Nora made any motion to move or speak for several moments. Nora watched her first love as he inspected the stone curb on the edge of her yard, shoving his hands in the pockets of his worn out jeans, his darkened tan a telltale sign that the roofing business had been going well, contrasting sharply with the white tee shirt he wore.

"Say you'll have me back." His plea was soft, quiet, but against the still neighborhood, she heard him in perfect clarity. "Say we can try again."

"It's not that simple, Jack. This isn't a movie."

"Do you love me?" The bluntness of his words hit her hard, and she bit her lip to prevent herself from automatically answering yes. Yes she did love him. She'd always love him. She ran a hand through her hair, blinking away the errant tears that blurred her vision.

"You can't ask me that." She was stalling, and he knew it. He tried again.

"It's a simple question, Nora, yes or no. Do you love me?" The distance between them hadn't been this marginal since he had pushed her out of his life, and now that he could see the rise of her chest as she breathed, the subtle water marks along her cheeks, the traces of clay in her hair and on her hands, all he wanted to do was close the distance and pull her against him, dry her eyes on his shirt, breath in the faint scent of acrylic paint and canvas and clay and laundry detergent, and all those little things he associated with her. He watched her brush away another tear, and nod her head only just.

"I can't do this." She stood, turning back towards the door, and Jack Cooper stopped thinking. He sprinted the length of the front yard, and caught her arm as she started to climb the steps.

"Nora, wait." She made no motion to pull away from his gentle touch, but she made no motion to reciprocate it. "It was stupid. I was stupid. I panicked last fall. I only wanted you to be happy." His voice wavered with the uneven weight of his jarred emotions, and she yanked her arm away, turning curtly to face him, looking down at him from the top of the porch steps.

"How did you know I wasn't happy before? That I wasn't ready to make it work, to try? What part of 'I love you' means 'I'm not happy'?" She took a step toward him again, bringing her eye to eye with him. She reached up, and gently tugged his baseball hat off his head by the brim in a practiced fashion that would have made him smile had she not been so upset. She dropped the hat to the ground, and ran her fingers affectionately through his shortened brown hair, making his blonde undertones shine in the early Nevada sunshine. Jack closed his eyes, trying to remain composed, as he leaned into her touch against his cheek, relaxing when he heard the faintest of smiles in her voice.

"What did you do to your hair, Jack?" Nora grinned softly, unwilling to continue being furious with him any longer. They had a long way to go, but she loved him too much to turn him away. He returned her smile cautiously, wrapping an arm around her figure, and pulling her into a hug. Maybe everything would be okay, after all.

"I'm sorry." His apology came mumbled against her shoulder, and she dropped a leisurely kiss to his hair, accepting it. She tightened her grip around his shoulders, running a soothing hand a ways down his back. Nora let out a shaky breath, feeling him pull her closer, holding her tighter. She had thought she would never need this, would never want this, but now, standing on her porch steps, she realized that she could stand her ground all she wanted, yell at him until her voice went hoarse, walk back into the house and slam the door in his face, but none of that would change the ache in her chest where her heart had split.

She placed a hand to his jaw, pulling him closer, and catching him in a deliberate kiss. He caught her, like he always had, lifting her off the step only just. He tasted like coffee and worry and the kind of salt that only came in tears. She broke away, and he set her down, opening his mouth to suggest taking a ride to talk things out. He hadn't expected her to slap him straight across the face, but he reckoned he deserved it. He winced, and she rubbed her hand, her expression caught between hurt and affection.

"Next time I'll let my father hit you." There was an element of amusement in her threat, and he smiled.

"There won't be a next time." He moved to kiss her again, already lapsing back into an addiction he thought he had cured.

"We can make it work." She mumbled against his lips, and he grinned, pulling away to push a wisp of hair away from her face, and drop a kiss to her forehead affectionately.

"We have to, I'm going out of my mind."

Inside, Greg woke as Sara shifted under him, listening for music and hearing only silence. He pushed off her, ignoring her unhappy groan as he pushed back the blankets and climbed out of bed.

"Greg." She whined, a plea for him to come back to bed, but he ignored it, stumbling through their darkened bedroom to the doorway, still listening for Jack's singing, still hearing nothing.

"The music stopped."

"Gregory, come back to bed, leave her alone." Sara sat up, half-asleep, and frowned at her husband, who had disappeared down the hallway. Sighing heavily, she followed, intent on dragging him back into the covers, and not letting him interrupt whatever Nora and Jack were talking through. She caught up with him at the doorway of the kitchen that lead to the living room, hanging back but peering through the front windows at the two figures on the front steps. Sara tangled her fingers in his, pulling gently, but he let go, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, as they watched their daughter slap Jack Cooper across the face.

"Now that piece of shit kid can get off my yard." Greg pressed an affectionate kiss to Sara's cheek, and started back down the hall to their bedroom. Sara lingered a few more seconds, watching as Jack Cooper kissed her daughter. She rolled her eyes at Greg, and smiled.

"Yes, dear." She padded back down the hall, and climbed back into bed, curling up to his side, and relaxing against him, listening to his even breathing. She was pleased they were going to be seeing a lot more of Jack Cooper. She had always said that he was a good kid.


	31. Chapter 31

"He killed his wife, Greg." Sara sighed, knowing her seemingly sound argument was falling on the deaf ears of her stubborn husband. She crossed her arms over her chest, cocking an eyebrow at him, daring him to disagree. The younger man seated a few feet away squinted at the photos of the blood spatter again, frowning, and shaking his head.

"I don't buy it." Greg sat back in his chair and took in the sight of his wife, unfazed by the impatient look she was throwing him. "The cast off is too high." He gestured in the general direction of the bloody knife, lying haphazardly on the table, neatly sealed in its evidence bag. "The neighbor's prints are on the knife. And he had a serious thing for the decedent. And he's short enough to make that arterial spray at that height."

"Circumstantial! He told us himself he was over there leaning how to cook a homemade dinner for his girlfriend. Prints could be weeks old."

"I suppose the blood on the blade is weeks old, too?" She fixed him with a hard stare, and he cringed, knowing he had crossed the line. Fine. He could be painfully stubborn, too. It was the neighbor. She was wrong. "Look, Sara, I-"

"_No_. You're wrong."

"Just because they didn't have a perfect marriage doesn't mean he's going to slit her throat, Sara."

"She filed police reports four times, domestic abuse, domestic abuse, threatening drunken disorderly conduct, domestic abuse." She tossed the paperwork in his general direction, growing frustrated. "Vernon Buckley, proud owner of a felony, three accounts of domestic abuse, public drunkenness, armed robbery, and assault." She pushed a stray lock of brownish curls out of her eyes. "He used his wife for a punching bag for ten years, Greg."

"Character doesn't dictate evidence, Sara. Sure the guy's an ass, should be locked up for other things, but the forensic evidence isn't there. You can't convict a guy without something tangible, love."

"I _know _that." She frowned, rubbing at her eyes tiredly. "It's just we don't have enough evidence to support the neighbor, either." The accusation in her tone surprised him, and he shot a retort back.

"I'm not speculating!" He stood, snapping on a pair of gloves in a meticulously practiced manner, his attention on the forensic evidence scattered across the table beside them. He reached over, grabbing the bag with the knife, and dropped it in front of his wife. "Murder weapon. With Mr. Harvey's prints." At her set jaw, he rummaged around again, curling his fingers around the dirt sample they had collected from the back door's welcome mat. "Dirt from the mat, where entry had been forced. Matching Mr. Harvey's brother's construction site, and Mr. Harvey's boots." He reached for another bag, but Sara swiveled in her chair and closed the distance between herself and the door, fuming her way down the hallway, and away from him.

That was three days ago.

They hadn't spoken a word to each other since.

Nick began to worry when neither Greg nor Sara would talk to him about their case, or their sudden lack of communication. Sara would just change the subject, turning their conversation on his relationship with Grace. And Greg; Greg would roll his eyes and plead the fifth. They danced around each other gingerly, one behaving seemingly empathetic toward the other. They were each carrying other cases, and for that, Nick was thankful. The Buckley case had fizzled cold, they had moved on to other assignments, but it had wedged a space between them that they just couldn't quite fix. It was childish, but they were stubborn, and Nick was running out of ideas. He was amazed they hadn't killed each other, or suffocated, in the amount of tension oozing out of 27 Harris Street.

Usually their arguments, at least in their marriage, dissipated when Greg broke down and got Sara to laugh, and forget about why she was so angry with him. Usually that process could be witnessed in the time it took to leisurely sip a cup of coffee. This was outside the realm of any normal lover's quarrel, that he was certain. The part of them that had worked the same case was bulldozing the part of them that was husband and wife.

Nick desperately wanted his friends back, instead of the brooding _teenagers_ that were sulking around not speaking to one another. Working a routine B&E with Sara on a slow night, he decided to act. Bully. Charm. Connive. Get to the bottom and fix whatever they were not speaking to each other over.

"What the hell is going on with you and Greg?" Nick snapped a few photos of smashed glass, and glanced at his friend.

"Just a bump." Sara sighed, frowning at the shard of fabric she collected, placing it in a bindle and scribbling the case notes on the outside. "It's fine."

"It's not. You're miserable."

"I'm not miserable. I'm just tired."

"You look like shit."

"Thanks." Sara stashed a blood swab in his kit and threw Nick a sad smile. "I just haven't slept really well." Nick straightened, stealing a glance at her heartbroken expression as he switched the camera lens. So that was it. Greg must be sleeping on the couch. She'd told him, while she was in the hospital after Nora was born, that she couldn't sleep without Greg beside her.

This was ridiculous.

Sara's phone rang shrilly, singing some bad eighties song he recognized as her setting for Greg. She groaned irritably, flipping open the phone and cradling it against her ear.

"Gregory." He cringed when he heard her tone, the dissonance between her cool exterior and her broken heart clashing loudly. The sudden brightness in her voice caught his attention seconds later, however. "Really? _Really_. Huh." Sara stood from her crouched position, and smiled faintly at Nick's questioning look. "Don't start without me. Greg." She paused, rolling her eyes, holding the phone away from her ear as her husband rambled. "Gregory." She shook her head, obviously not able to get a word in, making Nick chuckle. "Fine, but I'm on my way." She started to shut the phone, but paused, his words in her ear softening her features. She dropped her voice to a soft whisper. "I-I love you, too."

Nick broke into a grin, relaxing a bit now that his friends at least had had an amicable conversation. Those three little magic words meant maybe Greg and Sara might fix themselves. He nodded, agreeing with her rambling about a major breakthrough with the Buckley case. She kissed his cheek, and he watched her as she went running to her Denali, pulling out of the tiny parking lot and speeding off out of sight, in the general direction of the lab.

"What's this kid's story?" Greg peered through the observation window, at the gangly seventeen year old slouching into a chair in the interrogation room, glancing around nervously at the uniform at the door. Sofia frowned, tossing her notepad onto the side table, and running a tired hand over his eyes.

"Jason Sinclair, 18. Honors student in Heidi Buckley's advanced American Literature class at Dirado. Walk –in confession. Said he did it, said he'd do it again. School says he was in the running for valedictorian."

"Was?" Greg cocked an eyebrow at her, inviting an explanation.

"Take a look at Mr. Harvard-Early-Admission's transcript." Sofia handed him a folder, and he took it, flipping it open and scanning the contents.

"Whoa. Apparently we don't have quite the aptitude for American Lit as we do for the rest of our course load." Greg listened to Sofia's soft chuckle of agreement.

"A 'C minus' from our victim keeps him out of the valedictorian's seat, he losses his scholarship. Single parent home, two siblings, the only one with brains for Harvard. That scholarship was the only ticket."

"Motive."

"Amen." Sofia shifted, as if trying to decide the best way to go about getting the truth out of the kid in the other room. There was a heavy load riding on this conviction… Mrs. Buckley's popularity at Dirado High had made the case high profile, and it had created a limbo of tension in the lab, with Sara and Greg not on speaking terms.

Greg had a solution, however. He threw her a kindly smile, and slipped around her, into the hall, swinging the door of the interrogation room open, dismissing the rookie officer standing at the door. He smiled at the kid, ran a hand through his disheveled salty curls, and flopped down into the chair beside him, so that Sofia could clearly see his profile through the observation window.

"Hey." Greg nodded a friendly greeting, settling down into the chair, and pulling it up to the table comfortably. Jason eyed him carefully before biting his lip.

"Hey." The timbre of the younger man's voice was slightly higher, and Sofia smiled as it cracked. "So you're going to put me away, then."

"Are you guilty?" Greg leaned back, resting his shin against the edge of the steel table.

"Depends on what you're charging me with."

"Graduating this spring?"

"Yeah."

"College?"

"You already know that."

"Yeah, I do. Harvard, right? My wife went to Harvard." Greg glanced at the file before holding Jason's gaze, wondering how long it was going to take for the anxiety to fall off the kid's shoulders.

"What did she study?" Jason arched an eyebrow, as if challenging Greg, like he was making it up.

"Conceptual Physics."

"And you?"

"Stanford. Chemistry."

"A police officer with a name brand degree in Chemistry? Seems like an extensive, expensive education for a cop." Jason frowned, sweeping his gaze over Greg's laid-back, casual appearance. "You don't look like a cop."

"I'm not." Greg nodded towards the screen print on Jason's tee shirt. "You're a little young to be a Stones fan."

"So are you." Jason cracked a trace of a smile, and Greg saw a trickle of tension leave his frame. "D'you need to call my mom or something?"

"We're just talking. You're not a minor."

"Yeah. I guess not." Jason leaned forward, resting his elbows on the cool metal surface of the table. "I didn't want to cause a scene. Police cars, lights. Sirens. My mother, she would be ashamed of that. She worked hard so that I could excel. I was the ticket out of North Vegas. My brains."

"I saw your transcript. Your grades are perfection."

"Everything except American Literature."

"Mrs. Buckley."

"That grade, it was the only thing standing in my way. Mrs. Buckley's class, it was hard. I worked hard. Every test I took, every 'A' I brought home, that was one step closer to a better life." Jason paused, considering the older man seated beside him. "I write stories. I'm going to be a writer. A bad mark in American Literature is as good as a suspension. Expulsion. It's failure."

"How 'bout you tell me one, then, for starters."

On the other side of the observation glass, Sara had gotten to the lab just in time to watch her husband diffuse the defenses of the kid sitting beside him, and, with a few well-placed conversational inquiries, turned the interrogation room into a sort of secular confessional; on one side of the glass, Jason Sinclair became an open book, with Greg hanging on every word with an investigator's ear. On the side where the mirror became a window, Sara and Sofia were frantically checking for forensic consistencies with Jason's story.

Hours later, Greg Sanders watched from his seat in the interrogation room as the rookie uniform read Jason Sinclair his rights, fastening handcuffs around his wrists, and lead him away from Greg and into Holding. Greg ran a hand through his wavy curls as Jason disappeared around the corner, looking up at the sound of his wife slipping quietly in.

"Hey." Her tone was soft; he could almost hear the apology in it. In their twenty-one years of marriage, he had won four arguments, had heard her sound like that four times. He leaned back in his chair, and offered her a weary smile.

"Hey." She sat beside him quietly, and he wrapped his fingers loosely around hers on the sterile table. "Are we talking yet?" His words were just as soft as hers, barely audible, but he reached over and switched off the microphone anyway.

"I'd like that." She let her lip curl into a smile, and he returned it, squeezing her fingers gently. She hesitated, and he waited patiently for her to speak. "I'm sorry, Greg."

"It's the job, love. Nothing to be sorry for." He smiled, chuckling as she teared. "You know, your years of sleeping with me may have had a dissolving effect on that cement wall mentality you used to have." He spoke lightly, teasing her, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

He was everything she could have ever listed as a good quality of a husband and a father. He doted on her with a brand of love she had never known existed, loving her and their child unconditionally, above anything else. The dedication he had for their family, however, spilled over into the other love in his life. Science. Greg was a brilliant investigator. Far more emotively intuitive than she would ever be.

"You were genius with Sinclair." She had turned his hand over on the table, running her fingertips over the lifelines across his palm.

"I had a gifted mentor." She smirked, acknowledging his kind words, letting him know they didn't fall on deaf ears.

"I haven't been a very good mentor these past few days."

"I wasn't exactly a model student." They sat in the interrogation room for several minutes in silence, Greg tightening his grip on Sara's hand, thankful for the return of contact. The last three days had wreaked havoc on him.

"Greg?"

"Mmhmm." He raised his gaze to meet hers, his features softening as he watched her thought process play out in her eyes.

"How is your neck?" He threw her a grin, laying a hand along the stiff muscles just above his back.

"Stiff."

"Maybe, maybe you could come sleep in the bed again, then." She spoke slowly, and there was a pause, as Sara's proposition hung in the air between them. Finally, Greg spoke.

"Will you be there?"

"I was thinking about it, yeah."

"That sounds nice."

"Greg?"

"Mmhmm."

"Let's go home." She didn't have to suggest it twice; Greg followed her out of the interrogation room, hoping that their elongated argument was coming to an end. He arrived home a few minutes after her, pulling his department-issue Denali into the driveway beside hers.

Inside, he clicked the door shut, and swept his gaze over his wife, standing in the middle of their living room, looking like she had something heavy on her mind. Greg closed the distance between them, and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him, into a tight hug, burying his features in her shoulder, relaxing as her arms slid around his shoulders, returning his embrace.

"Are we done fighting, now?" She nodded against him, and he pulled back, catching her in a kiss that fell just shy of gentlemanly before resting his forehead against hers companionably.

"We can't let the world out there wedge us apart in here."

"I agree." Sara heard a trace of a husky quality in his voice, and she pulled away, suggestive smile playing at the corner of her mouth, leaving her husband standing in the doorway, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Greg?"

"Mmhmm."

"Come to bed."

She shed the clothes she wore to work on her way to the bedroom, pulling Greg's tee shirt over his head and distracting him with an evocative kiss, pushing him down onto their bed. He broke into a childish grin as she trapped him, but he flipped her gently, rolling on top of her and splitting his attention between ridding her of her panties and kissing her senseless. She laughed, the stubble on his jaw scratching her softly, and she ran a hand along his shoulders, easing the tension of three days of sleeping on the couch. She squirmed, wanting control, the upper hand, but he stilled her movements with a slow, deliberate, tormenting kiss, pushing her hips into the mattress with dull pressure, causing her to groan into his mouth, making him laugh with a huskier timbre.

"We're too old for this," she mumbled, letting out a gasp as his fingers slipped along her side. His noncommittal grunt of acknowledgement caused a sharp heat in her hips.

"We're never to old for this." Greg broke off their kiss, shifting to leave a trail of affection down her neck, tickling her, making her squirm.

"I propose a rule, Gregory."

"Mmhmm." She felt him vibrate through her, and she shivered, trying to remember what she was talking about.

"No mentioning of work on this mattress. _Jesus_, Greg." She arched into him involuntarily, and he pulled away, propping himself up on his elbows to cock an eyebrow at her.

"No work. Good plan. 'Cept maybe the occasional scientific jargon in the context of foreplay." She laughed out loud, brushing a curl away from his eyes.

"Right."

"Just, me, you, and the rings on our fingers. I love-" The shrill ringing of the phone on the beside table cut Greg off, and he groaned out of frustration, shifting only just to pick up the receiver.

"Sanders."

"Hey Dad." Nora smiled into the receiver as she heard Greg's voice. Sara watched as Greg's demeanor shifted from mischievous lover to kindhearted father; the espresso irises that had darkened as they hit the mattress lightening to his normal chestnut brown.

Nora.

Damn that girl and her timing.

"Hi Rosie. What's up?"

"Not too much. Classes are good. I'm working on this killer painting, it's in the style of Monet, but it's a reproduction of a Michelangelo. Way cool. The brush strokes are so much fun-" Greg sighed inaudibly, realizing that this was one of those times where Nora could probably talk for hours. Not that he didn't love talking to his daughter; but Sara's almost naked body beneath him posed somewhat of a conflict of interest. Not that Sara was much help, either; she kept running her fingers along the small of his back, trying not to laugh.

"Glad you're having a good time." He hoped his words didn't sound strained, and he held the receiver away from him for a second to press a kiss to Sara's lips, hoping that it would placate her until he could get Nora off the phone.

"Uh, Dad?"

"Yes, love."

"Uncle Nick said you and Mom aren't speaking."

"He did, huh."  
"Yeah. He told me to call and mediate, because he couldn't get either of you to talk to him about whatever's going on. You're not thinking about a divorce, are you? Nick said you'd been like this for days. Dad, you and Mom's fights only last twenty minutes."

"It's okay, Rosie. Your mom and I had some disagreements about a case. We're fine."

"Are you sure?" Nora frowned into the receiver, hearing the strain in her father's voice.

"Very sure. We are more than fine. Caught the guy. Made the conviction. Perfectly fine."

"You may want to tell Nick. He's pretty worried about you." Greg sighed, laughing, realizing Nora wasn't going to let up.

"Nora?"

"Mmhmm."

"You know, in baseball, how rain delays hurt the pitcher?" Beneath him, Sara laughed at his terrible metaphor.

"Well, yeah. The older the pitcher the more damage to his timing- oh." Greg laughed as he heard his daughter make sense of the analogy. "Oh, Dad. Gross."

"I'm going to have to talk to you later, Nora."

"Yeah, yeah. I love you too. Hi to Mom. Bye." Nora hung up the phone, tossing the receiver onto her bed, and settling down again to her Art History textbook, shaking off the thought of what was going on at home.

"That was fast for an intervention. I thought your uncle said they weren't speaking." Nora's roommate turned in her chair, shooting the blonde a questionable look. Nora shrugged, trying to chock it up to her parents being overly affectionate in general. God, they were such kids sometimes.

"Yeah, they're definitely done fighting."

Nora wondered vaguely how many of da Vinci's works she could study that did _not_ include nudity.


	32. Chapter 32

"Greg." Sara reached out to shake her sleeping husband gently again. "Greg, wake up." She ran a hand through her curls, and bit her bottom lip, waiting for the man before her to rouse from his sleep. "Gregory." Greg groaned softly, rolling over on the couch, and rubbing his eyes, frowning as his wife came into view.

"Mmmsleepinsar." His voice was gentle, muffled by the pillow he was probably drooling on.

"I haven't seen you in forever." Sara whined softly, as she shook him again, and he rolled over, rubbing his eyes as he started to smile. It had been just that morning, in actuality, that he had seen his wife.

"It's only been a shift, love." He chuckled as she threw him a grumpy look, and reached for her, pulling her down to him, pressing an affectionate kiss to her lips.

"I missed you. It's been more than a shift, Greg." Sara grinned mischievously, shifting over him to settle her body against his suggestively, reaching up and twirling a lock of salty golden brown hair around her finger, watching the few silvery gray strands catch the light. He kissed her again, pulling a leg out from under her and setting his foot on the carpet. She groaned softly at his movement, chuckling into their kiss as his fingertips slipped beneath the thin cotton of her oxford shirt.

"I saw you this morning." He reasoned, laughing as she took his bait, smacking him lightly.

"This morning was almost twenty hours ago, Gregory."

"Hence why I'm tired. Hence the crashing on the couch." He was teasing her, and she pulled out of his grasp, rolling her eyes. "You interrupted a really nice dream."

"Oh yeah?" She arched an eyebrow at him gracefully, sitting up and leaning against the back of the couch, her fingertips feeling the muscle along his thigh. "What was it about?"

"There was an awards night, like the Oscars or something, except they were DNA Oscars, and I was back in the lab, and I was walking down the red carpet, with this blonde thing hangin' on my arm, and- what?" He grinned up at his wife, who was fast losing interest in the prospect of making out on the couch. "Sara Jane! I'm kidding."

He was laughing again, and pulling her down a bit to meet him, catching her lips in a slow, deliberate display of affection. He sat up fully, pushing her gently on to her back, her shoulders hitting the cushions on the opposite end of the couch. He loomed over her, his hips nudged snugly against her thighs. She snaked her arms around his shoulders, returning his kiss, moaning a protest into his mouth as she felt his fingers slip beneath her shoulders. He tore away from her lips, pressing halfway hungry kisses along her neck, and collarbone, causing her head to tilt to one side, and her hips to twist up against his.

"Greg-" She smiled, threading a hand through his hair, feeling his unruly curls, still wild after so many years together. Her breath hitched in her throat as she felt his fingers between them, adeptly flicking open the buttons of her shirt. He leaned up, pulling her bottom lip into a tantalizing kiss, tugging and pressing, asking permission and taking it.

He leaned his weight against her, pressing her into the cushions of their old, worn, well-loved couch, causing a dull itch of pressure in her hips. He chuckled again, and the vibration of his laughter reverberated through her, only adding to the heat below her stomach. Good God, this man was going to be the death of her. Abruptly, he pulled away, ignoring her faint whimper at the loss of contact.

"What, Greg?" She frowned, his eyes darted around the room, his features falling into investigator mode. She started to sit up, but he pressed her back down. "Gregory-"

"You hear that?" He tilted his head, listening intently, and her features broke into an expression of confusion; no, she didn't hear anything at all.

"Hear what? I don't hear anything. What-"

"Exactly. Nothing." He grinned childishly at her, and she lay back down, relieved. "We have the whole house to ourselves." There was an element of awe in his voice, mixed with amusement.

She knew he meant it as an offer; a suggestion for variety and spontaneity. In the name of romance and staying young. They had joked around in the past about the extra time they had together, with Nora back to school again for her second year in Chicago. But now, the thought of her baby so far away instantly caused her eyes to water, and before she could stop it, her vision blurred with tears.

"Oh, Sara, honey I didn't mean to upset you." Greg's soft words were comfort, and Sara wiped at her eyes hastily before choking out a laugh, trying to brush off the sudden onslaught of overwhelming emotion.

"No, I just. I'm sorry, Greg, I." She sighed, relaxing against the cushions and smiling sadly. "I- my baby. She's gone. She's so far away. Greg, the house will always be empty. We have no more children left." Greg stifled a laugh, his features remaining somber. He reached up, and brushed a few tears from her cheek, then leaned in, and pressed a lingering, companionable kiss to her lips, pulling away after a few moments.

"She's not gone, Sara. She's just grown up." His words sounded serious, soothing, but his eyes sparkled suddenly, and he smiled childishly at her. "We knew it was coming." He was humoring her, and she groaned, frustrated. "Like she'd really be four years old forever."

"She _should_ be." Sara started to pout, but bit her lip instead, squirming fervently against his hips as he pressed against her.

"No thank you. Three hundred and sixty-five days of questions that begin with 'why' was enough for me." Greg caught her again, grinding softly against her, making her moan, her fingers sliding from their tight grip on his shoulders to feel the muscles dance lazily along his arms. He broke their kiss, flashing her the lopsided grin she fell in love with years and years ago. "What? You don't want to shack up in here with me for the rest of your life?"

"No, I do, I just. This is weird. We never used to do this." On top of her, Greg rolled his eyes, turning his affections to the crook of her neck.

"We used to do this all the time, Sara." She pulled him to her, crashing her lips against his, groaning hoarsely as his hip caused heated friction against her thigh. He trailed a few kisses to her ear, placing a delicate kiss along her jaw. "It's time to reclaim our youth." She broke away, arching into him, wincing from the unsettling pressure before breaking out into a raspy laugh as his fingertips traced feather light touches, making her squirm.

"Oh, honey, that's quickly fleeting." He felt her giggle beneath him, and he dropped a few more kisses to her neck before shifting lower, and leaving a trail of affection along the top edge of her bra. He placed open-mouthed kisses on her bare skin, groaning as she whimpered, squirming against him. He dropped a few more, the feeling of her fingers tangled in his hair abruptly turning him on.

"We had a late start, yeah, but now I think we can just make up for it." His smile told her he was humoring her, but the glint in his eyes told her he loved their life. "Besides. Our little girl is off becoming a starving artist. Who are we to get in the way of all that glory?" The husky quality of his voice made an offer as to how this was going to end. She chuckled, pulling him up to her again, kissing him fiercely.

God she loved this man.


	33. Chapter 33

"Its…blue." Sara pursed her lips, shifting her weight and tilting her head, casting a gaze at the painting before her again. She stepped back a few paces, thinking that perhaps she needed to take in the artwork in its entirety.

No, it was still blue.

This was useless.

"It's going for 10K, Nora said. Some CEO wants to redecorate his office off this. Something about blue being calming." Greg tried to remain serious, tilting his head to try and understand what was so profound about a three-foot blue dot on a four-foot tall canvas. He'd never understand modern art. Too bad, too. Ten G's sounded good to him.

"Not calming, so much as looming. It looks like it's going to pop off the canvas." Sara bit her lip as a few of Nora's classmates walked by, talking excitedly about the incredible depth in the blue dot piece. She stepped closer to Greg, taking hold of his arm.

"Well, whatever it is, it'll keep her in business." He squinted, trying to read the caption posted beside the painting.

'_Peace'_

'_How good bad music and bad reasons sound _

_when we march against an enemy.'_

–_Nietzsche._

He frowned, leaning into his wife and lowering his voice. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Got me. Whatever it is, it makes Nora happy." He nodded his head toward the rest of the elegant gallery, and Sara's fingers slid down his arm, tangling with his own, following as he lead her along to the next painting. Green. Fantastic. It wasn't that he wasn't proud of his daughter. He was. A man in a tuxedo offered them glasses of champagne from a tray, and Greg plucked out two, handing one to his wife, thanking the attendant quietly. He was going to need it, if he was going to be looking at blue dots all night. He just didn't understand.

Maybe this was how she felt about him and Sara, when they got going about science. He looked around, smiling proudly as he heard a pair of older women commenting on the phrasing of color in the collection of religious paintings that hung a few yards away. Notably, he saw, they were of the Nordic tradition. They weren't overly religious, really, but he was pleased to see she had embraced her ethnic roots. He wasn't entirely sure how colors could have phrasing, though. He was pretty sure words had that quality. He was dragged from his thoughts and from the piece of floor he was standing on as Sara lead him away to a few paintings of Urban Chicago, black and whites. He much preferred it when he could see the objects of her paintings, even if they were depressing. His gaze wandered to a portrait on the back wall, and he smiled broadly.

"Hey. Look familiar?" He nodded towards the sleek frame, watching his wife as she smiled delicately. Nick's broad smile lit up the canvas, only half of his face painted along one edge. The crook of his neck served as the center of the portrait, the soft black of a field vest, making the grayish white 'Stokes' protrude from the bottom left of the painting. Nora had captured the laughter in Nick's eyes, and the wattage in his soft smile lit up the dim of the gallery. Sara let go of his hand, crossing to the portrait of Nick, bending slightly to read the caption. Greg followed, sauntering along, his attention caught momentarily by the soft sway of her skirt, and the manner in which it hugged her curves. He shoved his hands in his pockets, squinting to read over her shoulder.

'_Cisco's Kid'_

_My mother's favorite cowboy._

It was clear that Nora loved Nick deeply, and watching Sara's reaction to their daughter's representation of their good friend caused his vision to blur gently with a few tears. Sara loved Nick, as well.

"He told Nora he couldn't make it." Sara turned reluctantly, almost, from the portrait before them, nodding.

"He said she was crushed. I don't think she told him about the portrait. She was going to surprise him." Sara grinned, weaving her fingers into his. "She's the one who's going to be surprised, though."

"Gotta love the new kid on Days, itching for the extra hours." Nick had called Sara a few hours ago, stating that he was on the next plane to Chicago, that Reynolds had agreed to cover his shift that night. And that neither of them were to say a thing to Nora.

It was, however, hanging beside a portrait of a nude woman with an exotic body, posed provocatively. Greg consciously reminded myself not to make naked-people jokes. It would only earn him a smack in the ribs. He couldn't help himself, however, when he read its corresponding title caption.

'_Seduction'_

…_and my father's contagious amusement._

"She's got you pegged, huh?" Sara pointed at the caption, smiling softly. God she was beautiful; the brown of her eyes glittered softly in the light. He bent, kissing her chastely. He couldn't help himself.

There were a few paintings of Jack, slouched against a chair, plucking out a tune on his guitar, one of him standing beside a window, the dawn light falling gracefully about his shoulders. His head was cocked back, and he was twisted, looking back out at them, the devilish smile balancing on his lip. Nora's expert use of color and shading made the muscles in his back come alive from under the plain white shirt he wore. Greg ran a hand through his unruly curls, squinting to read the caption.

'_Minor Key'_

I fell in love with a Vegas musician… 

He smiled politely, following as Sara pulled him away. His baby had fallen in love. He tried not to think about it too much; he didn't want to cry in the middle of the somewhat crowded gallery. Quickly he took a long sip from the champagne glass in his hand. A younger man, in his thirties, approached them, a friendly smile on his face.

"Hi. My name's Fred Hartman. I'm one of Nora's professors." He extended his hand to Sara, who shook it, fixing a polite smile to her features.

"I'm Sara Sanders, this is my husband, Greg. We're Nora's parents." Professor Hartman shook Sara's hand, and then Greg's, politely.

"Nora spoke of you often. I recognized your husband from some of her reference material." Greg wasn't sure what that meant, but he smiled politely, letting Sara handle the talking. "I'm so glad you could make it. Vegas is quite a distance."

"Well, this is quite an accomplishment. She's come along way from the finger paintings she used to bring home when she was little."

"Nora's one of the most talented painters I've ever worked with. She'll have a successful career, no doubt."

In the middle of the gallery were a dozen or so pedestals, each holding a sculpture or a working of metallurgy of some sort. Most of the abstract pieces had a note attached; they had been bought. Several collections of earrings and other such jewelry, too, were already spoken for, glittering under the fluorescent lights. Sara paused near a case, peering in, and instantly bringing a hand to her mouth to stifle her awe.

'_Spring and Fall'_

_For my parents, for Christmas… _

_Shh. Don't ruin the surprise._

In the glass case lay a ring with dull silver band, a tiny sapphire embedded along it's breadth. Leisurely swirlings meticulously crafted, etched into the silver, created an intricate design. Beside it, a dull silver chain, threaded through a tiny pendant holding a tiny emrald. Spring and Fall. May and September. She had made them complimentary jewelry, using the other's birthstones.

"Wow."

"They're beautiful."

Greg nodded, stepping around the corner and over to the next painting leisurely, leading his teary-eyed wife to the three-foot by eight-foot painting, splattered with vibrant colors. It covered the expanse of almost a whole wall of the alcove it was in, and made Greg grin broadly. He was glad she didn't limit her focus to the abstract movements of art.

At least with this one, he could clearly see his daughter's point.

And inspiration.

"Well then." It was a paneling, a series of four paintings, a chronological recreation of a photograph Nick had taken of Greg and Nora years ago. The first panel was the recreation of the actual photograph, one he knew to be among Sara's favorites. It had been taken when Nora was very young, and had just learned to walk. Greg had scooped her up from where she had been standing, and had tossed her into the air. The photo showed Greg having just caught his daughter, holding her above his head. She was giggling and squirming, and the younger Greg was bearing a broad, amused smile, not unlike the one he wore now. The figures were soft, rounded, the lighting delicate. Each unruly curl on Greg's head was carefully and meticulously brushed in. The shadowing was deep, each muscle in Greg's arm was vigilantly defined, each wrinkle and fold in his oxford shirt and jeans attentively painted. If memory served correctly, he had just gotten home from a double shift.

The second panel in the painting was Greg pulling Nora close, after catching her. Like sequencing, it was the next frame. Sara was amazed at how Nora displayed Greg's movements, however subtle, depicting his casual stance perfectly. She couldn't have remembered what Greg looked like when he was thirty-five, she was just a baby. The next panel showed Greg holding Nora against him, and pressing a playful kiss on her chubby baby cheeks. Her little hands and legs were flailing all over, but her face showed her gurgling and giggling happily, proclaiming a few sparse words. The final panel depicted Nora sitting against Greg's arm, her hand tugging gently on his curly hair. Greg's features were amused, but breaking into a grimace, anticipating the ache of the pull. It was perfect.

"Oh, Greg." Sara sighed, her attention caught completely by the elongated painting before her. The caption explaining the work contained two things; the actual photograph, sent probably by Nick, and a description that made her eyes water.

'_Daddy's Girl.'_

She turned to her husband, and pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his lips affectionately, pulling away after only a moment. He was a perfect father. Everything she could have ever wanted for her child. Everything she never had growing up. He slung an arm companionably around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her hair.

"This one's better than the blue thing, ten Gs or no." She broke into a chuckle, wrapping her arm snugly around his waist. How they had created such an amazing, talented artist, she would never know.

"It's not for sale." Both Greg and Sara turned at the sound of Nora's gentle voice, Sara quickly moving to embrace her daughter.

"It's so beautiful, Nora." Sara pulled away and stepped aside, letting her daughter walk into Greg's arms companionably. "This is amazing."

"Thanks." Nora pressed a loving kiss to Greg's cheek, and grinned her brand of Greg's mischievous grin, shrugging her shoulders. "I was homesick." Nora hugged her father tightly, leaning her delicate frame into his comfortably. "So whaddya think?" Nora stepped back, glancing at the painting in front of them, and then around the rest of the gallery.

"Oh, Rosie, it's amazing." Sara had found her vocabulary first, which was a good thing, seeing as his was lost at the sight of her.

His little baby was all grown up. That was it. Her elegant black dress wrapped snugly around her curves, falling gracefully to her calves with a timeless quality he was sure had been lost when Katherine Hepburn ceased to make movies. Her straight blonde hair had been cut stylishly, in layers that caused the bottoms to curl up, only just, wisps of blonde framed her delicate features perfectly, and the soft click of her elegant black heels made her look like his worst nightmare.

A grown up.

His baby girl, who's diapers he had changed, who's tears he had dried, who's slight frame he had once held in the crook of his elbow, who's scraped knees he had mended when soccer became cruel, now a stunning woman, sophisticated enough to make Catherine Willows proud, sliding into the upscale Chicago scene with a grace that would give even Cath a run for her money.

He turned back to the panels that made up the painting beside him, inspecting her work with an investigator's eye, searching for the comfort of the childhood of his only daughter. They had been happy then. Not that they weren't happy now, they were, but it was different now. A different kind of happy. Old man happy. The contentment she had captured on his features in each of the panels was an earlier edition of what he felt now. The anxieties were different. Then, he had been worried about kidnapping, and child molesters, and guns in schools. Now, he worried about rape, and abuse. Not that Jack would ever hit her. Or that she didn't know how to defend herself. Or that she wasn't strong. But he wasn't stupid. Or naïve. He saw it every day. Horrors like that paid her tuition.

"Nicky!" Nora's soft alto broke his thoughts, and he turned, and watched her brush past a few of her professors, and wrap her arms securely around Nick, who had just made his way through the entrance. He grinned widely, His eyes crinkling from years of smiles and laughs. The older man lifted his beloved niece effortlessly, swinging her around for a mere moment before placing her down again and pressing a loving kiss to her cheek.

"I heard you were kind of a big deal these days." Nora hugged him again, making him laugh. "Surprise." Greg clinked his glass against Sara's a silent toast to surprises and success.

"Who's minding the lab, then?" She looped her arm through his, letting him navigate them to where Greg and Sara stood, knowing smiles plastered on their faces.

"That's what we got rookies for. And the day shift. Don't you worry." He nodded a greeting to Greg, and leaned down to kiss Sara hello, before setting his gaze on the painting that had been birthed from one of his photographs. "Whoa."

"D'you like it?"

"I love it, Nora Rose. It's beautiful."

Greg had to agree. It was stunning. Everything was. She was an amazingly talented artist. He fell silent, taking in the four or five dozen people who were admiring his daughter's work. He spotted Jack, who paused a moment at Nora's side, handing her a glass of champagne, and kissing her cheek, before nodding a greeting his way. Greg waved, content to watch the younger man make his way back through the crowds, to give commentary of a few of Nora's pieces. He stepped back a bit, leaning against a bare bit of wall, taking in the whole scene. After several minutes, Sara led Nick to view his portrait, leaving Nora standing beside her father. She stepped closer, leaning against the space of wall next to the painting, resting her cheek against his shoulder companionably.

"Are you proud of me, Daddy?" She looked grown up, but the voice he heard was that of a little girl, home from her first day of school, and his vision blurred sharply, as he blinked a few tears away. He wrapped his arm around his daughter, pulling her close, and smiled, kissing her hair.

"I am, Rosie. I always am."


	34. Chapter 34

"Hey." Greg Sanders called out towards the back of the house, smiling to himself as he heard his wife fumbling through the cabinets in the kitchen. He dropped his bag at his feet, and tossed his keys in the bowl by the door, making his way across the living room, shrugging off his suit coat and draping it over the couch on his way to the threshold of the kitchen. He offered her a lopsided grin when she looked up, and stooped to kiss her as he loosened the knot of his tie. His lips lingered against hers for a few moments, and Sara Sanders dropped the stirring spoon in the pot as she kissed him back, chuckling as he pulled away reluctantly.

"Hi." She shot him a suggestive smirk, and delicately extracted the wooden spoon from the boiling contents of the pot.

"Guy only got seven years for possession and distribution to minors. Oooh, Rodgrote Med Flote." Greg tried to smile as he recognized the ingredients for his favorite ethnic dessert, leaning against the counter beside the stove, watching her give the berry sauce a stir. She only cooked Norwegian when something was bothering her.

"Yeah, Nick said it wasn't going to look pretty." She pushed a few Shirley Temple curls out of her face, unwinding them as she tucked them back behind her ear. "It's a shame."

"He's going to be out again, and selling again, and it'll be déjà vu for us, unless he gets smart, and then we'll never catch him. And this is his fourth offense. Not like we haven't done this before." Greg sighed, pulling the slack tie from around his neck, and tossing it onto the barstool in front of him. "I feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. I've provided the same testimony for that guy's prosecution each time he's been to court. I'm in a rut."

"Well, you look better in a suit than Bill Murray, if it's any consolation." She smiled at him, and he laughed, shoving his hands in his pockets, surveying her culinary efforts.

"You're pulling off June Cleaver here pretty well. Why are you cooking at two in the afternoon?" She sighed heavily, laying the spoon out on the stovetop, watching the boiling contents bubble excitedly in the small pot. "Sara Jane? Something wrong?"

"No." She bit her lip, and ran a hand through her hair, tousling her curls before speaking carefully. "Not really. Jack Cooper called."

"Yeah? What did he want?" Greg frowned, his tone was gentle, but he inwardly groaned. Jack Cooper, from the moment Greg had laid eyes on him some six years ago, had been a queasy sort of existence in his life. He wanted to like him. Really. Greg had actually gotten to a point where he almost liked Jack years ago, but within a week of Greg deciding that the kid was starting to maybe be pretty cool, he had shattered Nora's heart, and was dutifully placed back on Greg's shit list.

"To talk to you, actually. I told him to drop by the courthouse, you'd be there all morning, but he said it was important." She paused, stirring the sugary berries, adding cornstarch and juice then turning down the heat, before eyeing her weary husband. "They're getting really serious, Greg."

"I know." He watched her stir the contents of the saucepan distractedly, frowning as the pudding thickened. He wasn't an idiot. Sara must have known that the prospect of Nora and Jack's relationship evolving was going to be a bit unnerving. Hence the ethnic comfort food.

God he loved this woman. She didn't even like Norwegian food.

"He's playing a set with Jake Norton tonight." She tried to ease him into the prospect of their conversation, having an idea as to what the younger man had wanted to discus. The acidic distaste her husband had harbored for their daughter's boyfriend resonated now, bitterly, through the kitchen, just as it had since she had taken him back. Sara would put money on the wager that it was going to take a grandchild to get him to warm to Jack Cooper. Greg was clearly having a difficult time with the notion of his daughter loving any other man but him.

Amusing, but irritating.

"How serious?" Sara smiled, amused that his mind was caught processing the development of his daughter's romantic relationship.

"Jack mentioned to Jake Norton that he was thinking about moving to Chicago to be closer to Nora. Jake told Grace. Grace told Nick. Nick called me." Greg rolled his eyes at the junior high methodology involved in the grapevine. She pulled the saucepan off the burner, setting it down to cool before stepping around Greg's lanky body, and pinning him affectionately against the counter, pressing a leisurely kiss to his lips, speaking between kisses. "And I'm telling you."

He would have laughed a bit, had Jack Cooper not been perhaps becoming a part of his life for the remainder of it. He had always secretly hoped Nora would kick that kid to the curb. Maybe it'd be a curb in Chicago. Then Nora could sell her studio, and come home to Vegas. Then he wouldn't have to see Jack Cooper ever again.

That would work.

Greg turned his kisses down her neck, hugging her tightly, and burying his features in her wild curls. "I'll catch up to him after the set, then." His dejected tone made Sara chuckle, as she knew full well any and all contact with Jack Cooper was approached with trudging feet, and usually she had to cohort him to be polite to the poor kid. She pulled away only just, cradling his jaw with one hand, running her fingers affectionately through his unruly mass of peppery curls with the other, giving him an appreciative smile.

"Thank you." Greg rolled his eyes, but accepted her kiss before twisting and inspection the contents of the saucepan, dipping the wooden spoon into the thickened creamy pudding, and tasting it.

"Sar, this is perfection-" His words dribbled off, his sentence unfinished as her fingers eased the buttons of his shirt out of their holes with a practiced skill, making a genuine smile curl on his lip. He kissed her, slow, deliberate, pulling her flush against his hips in an affectionate gesture, groaning softly as she responded, snaking a hand into his disheveled curls, pulling him down to her, getting lost in him, and the rest of their world fell away.

She could always get lost in him.

…….

Hours later, Greg slouched comfortably against the wall of the back corridor of _'The Blown Change,'_ listening to Grace's delicate alto slur over the last few notes of an old hymn that Jake had coined into a sultry little number. For a moment he felt a bit like Dick Tracy, hidden away in the folds of the shadows of a smoky bar, all he needed was tilted fedora and a half-smoked cigarette butt hanging from his bottom lip. He smiled, pushing a few wayward curls away from his eyes, and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He was determined for this to not be awkward. If they really were getting as serious as Sara had let on, then he needed to play nice with Jack.

He'd rather have a root canal.

Jack Cooper wasn't a nervous man. He could get up on stage every night, play to a house of strangers, spill out intricate riffs on the strings of his beloved guitar. He, by profession, told everyone the contents of his heart each and every set.

Nora's father, however, scared the shit out of him, plain and simple.

He loved her, wanted to have a life with her, wanted to curl up to her each and every night, raise a family with her, watch the world revolve with her hand in his. Somehow he didn't think Mr. Sanders was going to agree. Maybe he was going about this all wrong. Maybe he should have told Nora's mom. Get her on his side. Maybe the best course of action would be to get to him through Mrs. Sanders. She at least was rational. Looking at the familiar figure leaning casually against the corridor, Jack Cooper felt like he was going to throw up.

"Hey, Mr. S." Jack called out a friendly greeting, slinging his case over his shoulder, and extending his hand to Greg. "Glad you got my message." Greg shook the younger man's hand before slipping his hands back into his pockets, and ducking out of the smoky little hallway, and out onto the street with Jack following.

"There's a diner down the street, you want to grab a cup of coffee?" It was as friendly an offer as Greg was going to give out, and Jack threw the older man a grin, nodding.

"Sure. That sounds good." There was a bit of awkward space between them, but Jack shrugged it off, adjusting the guitar case on his shoulder as they crossed the street, his focus halfway caught by the glitter of the newly fallen rain mixed with the dark of the pavement and the sparkle of the yellow streetlight. Greg heaved the archaic metal door open, holding it for his daughter's boyfriend before crossing the threshold himself. The younger man flopped tiredly into a booth, and Greg slid into the bench across from him. Jack took a breath, laying his palms on the tabletop, biting his lip before raising his gaze to meet Nora's father's. Greg Sanders was seated calmly across from him, an unreadable, steely expression over his features. He watched the older man cross his arms over his chest casually, nod a thanks to the waitress who placed two steaming mugs of black coffee on the table before them.

"Thank you." Jack's gaze flicked quickly to the waitress, and he inwardly groaned as his voice cracked with nerves. He watched Greg reach over for a moment, picking out a small packet of sweetener from the caddy against the window, shaking it a few times, then tearing it slowly, empting the contents in his mug.

"Good set." Mr. Sanders started, not bothering to hide the stiffness in his voice. He usually didn't hold grudges, but this one he hadn't been able to shake. Well, he hadn't really tried.

"Thanks." That awkward air was back, heavy between them, and Jack took a sip of burning hot coffee, cringing as it singed his tongue.

"What's on your mind, Jack?" His tone was even, to match his stare, casual to match his posture, but none of that fooled Jack. Fleetingly he thought that this was what Mr. Sanders must look like in an interrogation. He tried not to make it look like he was squirming uncomfortably under Greg's steady gaze.

"I, uh. I'm at a crossroads." Jack picked up his spoon, stirring the drop of cream he had added in a leisurely manner, with a shaky hand. Across from him, Greg cleared his throat, and leaned forward, on his elbows, his hands wrapped snugly around the mug before him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Greg's inquiry was drawn out slowly, and he almost smiled out of amusement as the younger man squirmed, leaning on his elbow, his gaze flickering to the cream he had dipped into his coffee.

"I wanted to run something by you." Jack's features became serious, and Greg cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Okay." Greg couldn't figure why he was so awkward all of a sudden, like they'd never spoken before. After a few moments, Jack Cooper seemed to remember his vocabulary.

"I was thinking, the other day, when I brought Nora to McCarran, because you and Mrs. Sanders were working on that heist thing at the Monaco, and I watched her walk down that corridor, you know, the one to get on the plane? And she just kissed me, and waved, and she was on her way, she'd been working on this mural for this office, and she was anxious to get back to it, and I watched her walk away, you know? And I decided. Right there. I don't ever want her to walk down that corridor by herself anymore. I'm tired of living in one state and having my heart be in another, you know? It's so far away, and we stumbled along in the beginning, and it was tough, but we made it, you know? And I love her, I love her so much it hurts to put her on that plane every time. I go outta my mind when she's not in town, thinking about how she is, and where she is, and how much I just want her around, and I hate that she's in Chicago, I hate Chicago, but I'd go there, you know? For her. I love your daughter, Mr. Sanders. More than anything. More than this town, more than my gigs, more than my damn guitar. I love her, and I don't want to put her on another plane ever again."

"Slow down." He was rambling, and he was thankful that Greg had interrupted him. Greg Sanders held his hand out, stopping Jack from continuing. "Take a deep breath." He did, and he sat back against the hard, dingy cushions of the booth. He dug into his pocket, and pulled out a tiny, sparkling silver ring with a glittery diamond, placing it in the middle of the table. He ran a hand through his hair, making it spike casually.

"I love your daughter, sir."

Oh God. Greg exhaled a breath slowly, focusing all his energy on disguising his feelings from Jack Cooper. He frowned, leaning forward on his elbows, resting his jaw against his hands, staring at the tiny diamond ring.

He was sure beyond reasonable doubt that Nora would say yes. Love the squirming man before him for the rest of her life. His grandchildren would call this man 'daddy.' When Nora went into labor, this man would be the one driving the car. This man was who he would talk down from a frantic panic when Nora kicked him out of the delivery room in an irrational hormonal rage. He'd back Nora up when report cards came, adopt 'yes, dear' as his favorite phrase. Jack would love Nora, and he'd love the children that they would have. He'd be the man standing in the doorway of his children's rooms, making sure they were safe after a long, hard day. Jack would be the man to set the dinner table, to light the candles, to orchestrate surprises on her birthdays. He'd curl up to Nora in the night, hug her fears away, love her unconditionally.

She'd be happy. That was all Greg had ever wanted, really.

"I know we haven't really gotten along that well in the past few years, sir, but I would really like to have you as my father-in-law. Sir." There was a long moment, where Greg didn't move, his calm, even gaze not wavering from the tiny diamond ring between them.

"Is that for my daughter, Mr. Cooper?" He watched Jack bite his lip, and shift nervously in his seat. He'd laugh, if it didn't involve his baby girl. He'd seen too many abusive husbands. Too many domestic cases. Not that Jack would lay a hand on Nora, but he had broken her heart before.

"Yessir."

"Do you love my daughter, Mr. Cooper?" Greg fell halfway into interrogation mode, hardening his jaw and staring straight at Jack, holding his gaze.

"Yessir." Jack didn't hesitate, and his features became somber.

The waitress stopped by, casually leaning over and topping off each mug with fresh coffee. She frowned, glancing from the younger man to the older man, and then to the diamond ring glittering in the florescent light. She was fairly certain that if the older man hadn't throttled the younger man by now, the younger man was safe. She shifted her weight, stepping away from the tension at the table, and shuffled down to the only other occupied table, a couple of nurses from Desert Palms on the night shift.

"You're rap sheet isn't exactly sparkling."

"I know, sir. I was young. Stupid. But I never stopped loving her."

"How can I trust that there won't be a repeat performance?" Despite Greg's serious expression, Jack broke into a nervous smile.

"I love her more than anything, Mr. Sanders. Sir. She is in my very first thought each morning, my very last each night. She's in every single note I play, ever word I sing, everything I do, I do with the intention that one day I will be her husband." He took a deep breath, picking up the tiny diamond ring and turning it over in his hands. "She wants to stay in Chicago."

"So she said." Greg had had a conversation with Nora a few days ago over a few glasses of wine and a Bogart film. They sat in silence for a few moments, and Greg took a long sip of the bitter, cooling coffee before setting the mug down steadily, and leaning over on his elbows, on the table.

"Mr. Sanders-"

"Let me make this simple." Greg's tone was gentle, but severe, quiet, but unnerving. The brown of his eyes darkened, even in the offensively bright light. Jack fought off a wave of panic. "If you intend to marry my daughter, you will love her more than you've loved anything ever before. You will not hurt her, and in the event that you harm even her feelings, you will be a decomposing body in the desert with nothing left of your face for dental impressions, and nothing left of your hands for fingerprints. I will personally tear your bones apart and bury them in a dozen states, and I will personally erase all of your documentation from all of our databases. You will cease to exist. There will be no evidence." Greg took another sip of coffee calmly, his features not acknowledging Jack's halfway panicked expression. "I just want to make sure we're clear, Mr. Cooper."

"Yessir."

"That'll do, then." Greg extended his hand over the tabletop. Jack considered him for a moment, relieved that Nora's father's expression had softened to his normal demeanor. Jack took his hand, shaking it firmly, offering the older man a thankful smile.Greg watched as he fumbled with the ring a bit, tucking it safely inside the pocket of his jeans.

"Those things come in boxes for a reason, Jack." Greg smirked over his mug of cooling coffee as his daughter's boyfriend rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but the box makes me nervous."

……

An hour or so later, Greg Sanders made his way through the crime lab, searching for his wife. She had been called in on a cold case with a fresh lead, and had just returned from the field, the new receptionist had said. He made his way determinedly through the hallways, checking the layout room, Warrick's office, the locker room. He found her bent over a microscope in the garage, playing mentor to Mike Hart, the green CSI level one the department had hired a few months back.

"…Pull it up at 400 mag… okay, now, see how the algae from the grooves on the hammer is a match to the algae from the radiator? Okay, so that's a visual match, but still bring it to Hodges. Be polite. Tell him he's wearing a nice shirt, that way he'll do our stuff faster." Greg leaned against the doorjamb of the garage, sweeping his gaze affectionately over her figure, clad in loosely fitting, faded, navy blue overalls. His wife in forensics overalls was a welcome sight, a rarity these days, and he learned to appreciate moments of this sort of pseudo-voyeurism, even though they were short lived. He smiled, watching young Mikey nod enthusiastically, and then scoop up the assorted evidence to bring to Trace. He greeted Greg with a broad smile, slipping past him with only a mutter of pleasantry.

"Sanders."

"Hart."

The easy tone of her husband's voice caught her attention, and Sara threw a smile over her shoulder at him, turning and peeling off her gloves, taking a few steps towards him to meet him in the center of the garage.

"Hey." His wife always managed to make axel grease and dirt sexy, and now was no exception. Sara had a smear of grease across her cheek, and her wavy curls tied into a messy knot at the base of her neck, curly pieces falling out all over, catching the light, making her appearance turn starkly feminine. He couldn't help himself, and he didn't bother holding back, dropping a loving kiss to her lips. She accepted his reasonable display of affection, arching an eyebrow at him as he slipped an arm around her waist.

"You're off, why are you here and not at home cooking me breakfast?" There was a hint of amusement in her voice, and he pressed another kiss to her lips, taking her hand and twirling her once before pulling her against him again, swaying gently. "Greg?" She shot him a questionable look, but didn't fight him as he twirled her again. He kissed her, mumbling against her lips.

"He bought a ring." She pulled back, her eyes wide, her hand flying to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. "Oh, baby, don't cry." He pulled her close, rubbing a hand over her back as she wiped her tears on the shoulder of his jacket. "He hasn't asked her yet." She pulled away only just, kissing him hard.

"She's all grown up, Greg." Sara wrapped her arms around his shoulders tightly, and he breathed in the familiar scent of her curls, shampoo mixed with axel grease and fuel emissions, pressing a few delicate kisses to her neck.

"It doesn't matter how old she gets. She'll always be our baby girl."


	35. Chapter 35

Greg Sanders winced as he lowered the rickety ladder that lead to the attic of 27 Harris Street. The cheap wood protested in his hands, creaking tiredly as he bent, bringing the lowest steps to touch the hardwood floor of their upstairs hallway. He hadn't been up in his attic in at least ten years, almost forgetting that the space existed. It remained the last barrier between himself and their boxes of unsorted photographs, and as much as he wanted to assemble the album for his daughter and son-in-law's upcoming first anniversary, he had a burning distaste for venturing into the attic. He'd rather handle a three-week floater than creep his way up the archaic ladder.

"Maybe we could just not-"

"Are you afraid of the attic, Greg?" Sara stood behind him, one hand settled on her waist, the other hiding her grin amusedly.

"No." He answered quickly, fixing her with a pleading expression. "What if something's dead up there?"

"Since when do dead things bother you?" She laughed, rolling her eyes. "C'mon, Gregory, just one box." She arched an eyebrow at him defiantly when he hesitated, pushing a stray curl out of her eyes. "Fine. I'll go first." She brushed past him with a smug smile, taking the makeshift stairs determinedly. "You are such a girl."

"Hey, I'm legitimately concerned for my health." There was laughter in Greg's voice, and he smirked, stepping back to watch his wife's backside sway ever so slightly as she climbed the ladder. "You're my hero."

"Yeah, yeah." She climbed up, disappearing into the black darkness for only a moment before pulling the string that turned on the ninety watt bulb that hung from the ceiling. "Getcher ass up here, Sanders." She grinned, standing on the edge under the light, watching her husband scale the ladder with ease, taking with him the empty photo album. She stepped back as he climbed onto the floor of the attic, turning around and surveying the small storage space.

"Since when do we have so much stuff?" Greg frowned, disgusted with both the air quality and the amount of work this project was going to entail. "We didn't even put anything up here 'til Nora was ten." He glanced around, coughing a handful of times, squinting in the dim, uneven light, smiling as he listened to his wife laugh.

"This is not merely _stuff,_ Gregory. These boxes are the contents of our life." Sara knelt, shifting a larger box labeled 'Dad's hair band tee shirts' in Nora's chicken scratch, rolling her eyes. "Well, some of it is your stuff."

"I resent that." He set down the photo album and moved a few boxes out of the way, careful of the one labeled 'Good China- don't drop" in Sara's loopy, lazy handwriting. "They're not all hair bands. Some of them are respectable ensembles."

She opened one of the boxes marked 'Photos from Nick' giving him an exasperated look.

"The Philadelphia Philharmonic is a respectable ensemble, Greg. Aerosmith is not a respectable ensemble."

"Don't tread on Steve and the boys, they held degrees in classical composition." He picked up the box and set it on a milk crate of story books beside an old armchair from his apartment, pulling off the sheet that kept the dust away and flopping down, peering in at the bundles and collections of photos. "And the chord progressions of Black Sabbath are reminiscent of Bach's arias. Or so Jack says." Greg pulled out a stack of photographs, sifting through them, his attention rapt by the images of his daughter as a tiny child. Sara cast him a sideways glance as she made her way over to him, an amused smirk curling her lip.

"You like him." Her tone was teasing, light and melodic, making Greg sigh, meeting her gaze with a disbelieving one.

"I never said that." He replied, evenly, tossing the bundle of photos back in the box and picking out some more.

"C'mon, Gregory, it's just us up here." Sara lifted another box from its perch, bending to place it on the floor before settling into the oversized chair with him, giggling softly when he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. He propped his head up on his hand, resting his elbow on the armrest, handing her the photos in favor of fiddling with her coppery brown curls, littered now with strands of silver, when she curled into the crook of his arm, leaning against his chest easily.

"I like it when it's just us." He mumbled sweetly, giving his wife a fond smile as she looked up at him, the soft light of the bulb making the brown of her eyes sparkle. His gaze shifted to her runaway curls, and he threaded his fingers through them, pushing them away from her features. After a moment he leaned over, kissing her lightly before turning his attention to the pile of photographs in her hand.

She cuddled into his frame, watching him in the dim, uneven light as he squinted at the black and white print she held in her hand. He took it from her, bringing the print closer, angling toward the light to see it better. His hair had gotten longer, in need of a cut, tumbling over into his eyes; refracting the light, still nearly void of any gray. Sure, he was younger than her, as he liked to remind her ever so often, but only by a few years.

She smiled softly, glad that he had made the bold move in the layout room, all those years ago. Taking risks on the job, yeah, she had been doing that since her first shift. Taking risks with her heart, though, she'd never done that until she had kissed him back. Greg's lips moved evenly, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before he looked down at her, eyebrow cocked.

"Sara? Did you hear me?" His voice had a husky, familiar quality that made her grin.

"Hrm?"

"I said you look beautiful." He nodded at the photograph, handing it back to her. The image was of Sara holding Nora, nearly a year after they had moved to Harris Street. It was obviously a Nick Stokes original, every picture Greg tried to take came out with ridge detail of his index finger instead of the desired image. She had been walking away from Nick, intent of putting Nora down for a nap, or changing her diaper, or some other such baby-related activity, pressing an motherly kiss to her chubby little cheek.

While Sara was the focal point of the photograph, little Nora stole the scene, giving Nick a goofy, lopsided, toothless grin, stretching her little hand out toward him. Her shocks of blonde had still been curly then, and Nora's baby curls had been tight little ringlets, contrasting sharply with Sara's darker, wavier loops. In the photo, Sara's jeans hung loosely to her frame, and the familiar lettering of Greg's Stanford Chess sweatshirt made her grin. The beauty in the photograph was clearly her daughter, and Nora's trademark, mischievous Greg Sanders smile.

"I look tired." She halfheartedly argued, but he kissed her hair, affectionately.

"This is everything I ever wanted, right here in this picture. Two most important women in my life." He took it from her, placing it carefully in the sleeve of one of the pages in the album. There was a smile in his eyes when he turned back to her, and he shrugged. "It's beautiful."

Sara rolled her eyes, smiling softly as she sifted through a handful of other photographs, keenly aware of his hands collecting her gangly legs against his chest before he picked through the box beside him. They forgot about time, sitting there in the attic, piled comfortably into the archaic armchair, occasionally adding to their collection.

After a while, Greg lost interest in continuing his own search, content to look on with his wife, looping his arm across her lap and knitting his fingers together against her hip, offering commentary on the odd image here or there. He hugged her to him, making her smile, shifting and resting an arm along his shoulders, holding photos out for both of them to see.

She was glad he had talked her out of putting this chair and all it's hideously tacky upholstery out with the garbage. There really was no other place she'd rather be.

Sara chuckled softly, excavating from the box a series of action shots. She flipped them like a book, holding it out for Greg to see as well. There were a half dozen or so images, Nora taking a few steps and kicking a soccer ball, laughing when Jack failed to block the shot, the soccer ball hitting the net in the goal the Sanders' had had set up in their backyard.

"Gregory, they're just kids." Sara sighed, failing to remember who was behind the lens. She squinted at the image of Nora laughing in the last photo, trying to determine when the shots were taken. Greg pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw slowly.

"Summer before the ninth grade. Practicing for varsity."

"Huh." She placed the picture that had Jack lying in the grass, looking wounded, and Nora laughing in their pile to go into the album, dropping the rest back in the box.

"You don't remember? Good God, I wasn't sure she was going to survive that week. I think that exact moment was the only time she didn't cry."

"Mmm. I'm so very glad she made it. Talk about a walking nightmare." Sara pursed her lips, reaching for another stack of photos. Nora was all about art and soccer from the time she was five until the time she moved to Chicago, and she had been a moody, temperamental, terrorous ball of anxiety in the weeks leading up to what they referred to as 'The Varsity Decision.'

"Jack was always a lousy goalie."

"But he was always good to Nora." Sara sifted her fingers through her husband's hair as he groaned, refusing to comment. He picked out a photo from the middle of the pile in her hands, and inspected it closely, his gentle laughter reverberating through her warmly.

"We gotta add this one." He handed it to his wife, pleased with the confusion that clouded her features. "D'you remember?" Sara's nose crinkled, and she shook her head.

"Where is this, Greg?" He slipped his hand from her hip to her abdomen, kissing her shoulder before answering.

"Main hallway of the Maternity Ward at Desert Palms." His lip curved into a sly smile as she squirmed in his lap, responding to his touch. "You were dilated seven or eight centimeters, and you were pissed off, labor wasn't making any progress. You accused me of 'hovering,' I believe, and you kicked me out." She arched an eyebrow at him, not remembering. He shrugged. "Drugs made you a little crazy. That and Nora decided to hold up for a while. And we both know how much you love losing control." He was teasing, and she suppressed a smug grin. "Anyway, Dr. Hart suggested I get a cup of coffee, which was code for 'get out of her sight before her blood pressure gets any higher,' and I sat out on the bench in the hall, and waited for you to decide to let me back in."

Her gaze flickered to his for a short moment, before she squinted, inspecting the photograph more closely. At first glance, she had thought it was just a print of that silhouette of Jack and Bobby Kennedy seated in a hotel room while on JFK's campaign. Looking closer, she saw that the darkened figures were Nick and Greg, slouched on benches on opposing sides of the corridor.

"Who took it?"

"Lindsey, actually, I think. Picked Nick's camera up, and took a roll and a half of film before he woke up." She tilted the picture toward the light bulb, noticing that Nick was, indeed, asleep, head propped up on the palm of his hand.

"You boys were so adorable."

"Were. Listen to you." He cuddled closer, and she smirked, hugging him tightly, dropping an attentive kiss to his lips. In a few short hours, they had almost filled the photo album for Nora and Jack. Greg took the picture of him and Nick in the hospital hallway from his wife, reaching over and sliding it into the empty sleeve of the page, closing the book and handing it to Sara silently.

"I'm really glad we did this, Gregory." She stretched out her legs over the armrest of the chair, opening the album across her thighs, thumbing through their handiwork. He grunted, noncommittally, resting his head against the nook of her neck, and closing his eyes, fingers knitted, again, along her hip, holding her securely.

A photograph of a baby Nora asleep on Nick, curled up on his chest while he sprawled out on the couch in the break room. One of fifteen-year-old Jack sitting on the floor in Greg's 'office' eating an apple and watching her daughter paint the mural that dominated one whole wall- it had been a surprise for Father's Day, the entire wall had been transformed into a landscape, the Santa Monica coast where Greg used to surf blended into the skyline of Brooklyn, where he had spent the majority of his childhood. She smiled fondly at the memory of their Sanders' women devious behavior. Greg had been sent to speak at a conference in Detroit for a week, and mother and daughter had seized their opportunity.

Sara turned a few pages, tears pricking in her eyes as she ran her fingers over the image of Nora and Jack in an uncontrollable fit of laughter, Jack's features bright crimson, corsage in hand, Nora's prom dress making her look elegant, Jack's unadulterated affection for her plainly visible in the awestruck smile he had fixed her with. One of their graduation from high school, Nora's white robe contrasting with the hunter green of Jack's as he lifted her easily, supporting her around her waist as she gripped his shoulders, touching her nose to his in the setting Nevada sun, her blonde hair pushed away in the gentle breeze.

A photograph of Jack leaning against the wall beside a painting of him at Nora's showing, a photograph of Nora dancing with Nick at his and Grace's wedding. Four-year-old Nora swiveling in Grissom's office chair, crayons and coloring books laid out on top of case reports, forgotten as her attention was caught by Grissom's fetal pig, her little features twisted into a sort of morbid curiosity. She kissed Greg's hair lovingly, looking at the picture of Nick and Greg and a teenage Jack, heads bent together under the hood of Jack's beat up old pick up truck, trying to make it work.

Contrasting to their younger counterparts, Sara flipped through, smiling softly at the photo of Nora seated at the vintage vanity backstage at the Friar's Inn in Chicago, nervously biting her lip as Sara focused on placing the simple veil in her hair moments before Greg walked her down the aisle. Below it, they had secured a photograph of Jack tugging at the collar of his tux, standing beside the justice of the peace that had officiated over their wedding. She had been hesitant about her daughter getting married in a jazz club, but they had transformed the cozy little scene into a classically beautiful, inviting venue. Nora had referenced their own wedding, lighting up the entire club with white Christmas lights, creating a soft, warm glow.

There were a few dozen more, Nora, Nora and Jack, Nora and either or both of them, Nora and Nick. They had put in a half dozen or so pictures of them before Nora was born, as well, candid moments here and there that happened to be caught on film, courtesy of Nick's revived passion for photography.

All in all, they had led a good life. They had a daughter they cherished, a son-in-law Greg was beginning to warm up to, and they had each other. Sara tilted her head away from him, leaning only just to be able to see his face, calm, asleep. The poor man had pulled seven hours of overtime before being dragged somewhat unwillingly up to the attic. She knew he hated it up here, but really, she didn't want to get lost in their memories by herself.

That, and there could very possibly be dead things up here.

She pushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, her smile reaching her heart, squeezing gently. He was everything she wanted. Everything she needed. Everything she loved and adored. They had constructed this life for each other, and for Nora, carving out happiness and battling the anger and tragedy and violence they saw shift after shift with domesticity and affection and laughter and kisses.

"I love you so much, Greg." She whispered, sighing happily when he stirred, but didn't wake, instead curling into her a bit more, settling against the back of the old armchair. She kissed his forehead. "Thank you."

Their marriage had kept them going, kept them strong, kept them from buckling under the weight of the job and losing sight of the goodness in humanity. They had done their best with Nora, and she had grown from a happy baby to an animated kid to a smart, witty, contented adult, the product of their life together but not nearly the sum of it. They had saved each other from burning out and giving up, their brand of intimacy translating into companionship and dependence in every aspect of their lives, bringing their affection for each other to such an intensity that it brought her to tears, broke her down, changed her, changed them both.

Greg had been such a loving father to her child, such an attentive, affectionate husband when she had hesitated. He had taught her that nurture could win out over nature, when she was worried about the kind of genes she had. He had started their family, really, loving her unconditionally for so many years; before she loved him back, and after. He had waited, patiently, surprising her with a brand of unyielding devotion, while she had surprised him with Nora, loving him back, fiercely. They were a good team, at work and at home, experienced and knowledgeable as criminalists, loving and faithful as husband and wife, effective and caring as Mom and Dad.

Sara shifted, careful to not disturb Greg, who had dozed off. She reached into the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out a copy of the photograph that would go in the last empty slot. She smoothed out the edges, sliding the latest sonogram image Jack and Nora had sent them carefully into the sleeve, closing the album. She pressed a kiss to Greg's lips, a warming sensation leaking from her heart, settling in her hips as she felt him smile lazily, then begin to kiss her back, tightening his grip on her waist.

A good life, indeed.


End file.
